Chronicles of the DLO: Restoring Vivian
by drobin
Summary: Now complete! This story follows the thoughts and off-screen action of the characters in the episode "Time to Start Livin'". For those that have not read it, my previous story, "Chronicles of the DLO: The Merry Mix-Up" is a companion piece to this one and precedes it, as it follows the Pilot movie. Please, read and review!
1. Weekend Activities

**A/N: I do not own anything you recognize. All characters and familiar scenes and dialogue belong to the wonderfully talented Martha Williamson. I am just along for the ride. This story follows the thoughts and off-screen actions of the POstables during the second episode, "Time to Start Livin'". Please, read and review, thanks!**

Sunday, June 28th, 2014

10:48 AM

Shane stood in line at the Convention Center, waiting for the doors to open to the Digital Sports Expo that was being held there this weekend. She, Oliver, Norman, and Rita had had to work the previous day so she had not been able to view the exhibits for Saturday, but she was excited to see what they had in store for Sunday.

As she waited, she sipped her coffee absentmindedly, musing on the events of the previous ten days. Tonight she was supposed to have had dinner with Steve. He had been gone for the last two months and would be leaving again on Wednesday for an indeterminate time.

 _Becky was right_ , Shane admitted to herself. _He is definitely more dedicated to his job than he is to me._ She had an epiphany then. _In fact, he only ever says "I love you" when I am distancing myself from him. He uses it as a hook to get me to stay with him!_

Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Oliver. Oliver, from whom his own _wife_ had distanced herself yet he had given her the space to decide things for herself. He believed in the sanctity of marriage but would not employ the use of emotional blackmail to bend her to his will. Shane admired the respect for his wife he exhibited despite the fact that she personally believed a year and a half was too long to simply wait for a prodigal spouse to return home.

The doors finally opened, pulling Shane from her reveries. As the line began moving, she anticipated the expo and the exhibits she would view that day. Tomorrow would be soon enough to think more on the subject of Oliver and his wayward wife.

SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD

1:30 PM

Oliver took a deep breath, gazing up at the building before him. _Have I gone completely mad?_ he asked himself. _I danced one time with Ms. McInerney and gained such enjoyment from it that I am finally willing to take those dancing lessons, when I wouldn't even consider them at Holly's request?_

Squaring his shoulders, he pushed the door open and entered. A statuesque brunette in a leotard greeted him.

"Hello, may I help you?" she inquired.

"Yes, I believe so," he replied. "My name is Oliver O'Toole; we spoke on the telephone earlier?"

"Of course, Mr. O'Toole!" she remembered. "I am Madame Francesca. You were looking to purchase a ballroom dance package but are currently without a partner, is that correct?"

"Yes, precisely," he nodded.

"Well," she said brightly, "you are in luck. I do have one female student who is beginning in today's class who is also without a partner. Her name is Louise, and she should be here momentarily."

"Excellent!" he announced. As she led him to the registration desk to fill out the forms and pay the fees, his mind went back to the reason for the lessons. He told himself that he would only take a few lessons; learn just enough dance to hopefully show Holly that he would no longer completely disregard her feelings and desires were she to come home. He ignored the Voice inside him that told him these lessons had nothing to do with Holly, but with his growing admiration for Ms. McInerney.

He had just finished registering for the class when the door opened and a woman walked in. She was elderly – in her eighties at least if she were a day – but that was preferable to Oliver as he was struggling enough over his feelings for two women in his life; he had no wish to complicate matters further. He fervently hoped that this lady was his new dance partner.

"Louise," Mme. Francesca greeted. "I would like you to meet Oliver. He has just registered for the same class as you and will be your dance partner."

"Wonderful!" The sprightly octogenarian clapped her hands. "Let's see if you can keep up with me, honey!" she winked.

Oliver laughed. Between work, and church, and Ms. McInerney's knack for…pushing the envelope, and now Louise at dance class, life for the foreseeable future would be anything but dull.

SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD

3:30 PM

Oliver let himself into his home, placed his keys in the dish by the door, and hung up his jacket. His dance class had gone well; Louise had proven to be just as active and unpredictable as he had assumed at their meeting. He began to think he would enjoy dance class.

Noticing the hunger pangs that had been growing in intensity for the last half hour, he realized he had had nothing to eat all day. He had gone to church that morning, stopping for an Americano on the way, then had gone straight from church to the dance studio. He had no food in the house, however, having eaten out all week and not having gone shopping to replenish his food supply from the week before.

Coming to a decision, he spun around, grabbed his keys and his jacket, and got in his car. Fifteen minutes later, he was parking at Marczyk Fine Foods, his grocer of choice. He wandered the departments first, gathering the items needed for salads from the produce department and a loaf of his favorite Pugliese bread at the bakery. He was grabbing a container of soup from the grab-n-go cooler when, glancing up, he stopped short.

There, not twenty feet away at the Deli counter, was the woman he had seen at the Bluegrass Festival the previous weekend, the one who had the boyfriend who didn't care enough to go to the festival with her but wanted her to drive back to Denver that night for a date. He was sure it was same woman: she had the same build, the same height, the same hair…as…as…

Shane.

It was Shane he had seen at the Bluegrass Festival, Shane he had compared (favorably!) to Holly, Shane who had driven five hours to make a date with a boyfriend she hadn't mentioned once all week. His heart plummeted in disappointment. She was also at a market, buying groceries when she didn't have a means to cook it while staying in a hotel suite. He took that to mean that she was cooking for her boyfriend in _his_ kitchen, wherever that may be.

He sighed. He had no right to be jealous, he knew. He was _married_ and she was simply a colleague. However, he had admired her forthright personality and had thought that he had earned her trust enough, especially given how he had opened up about Holly, for her to talk to him about the issues with her boyfriend.

He completed his shopping, gathering enough ingredients to make himself dinners for the week, and headed to his car. In the parking lot, he saw Ms. McInerney drive away in her little blue rental car. Sighing again, he slid in, placed his shopping bag in the back, and drove home.

SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD

 _Fifteen minutes earlier_

Shane, having seen nearly every exhibit at the Expo, had begun to grow hungry. Checking the time on her phone, she got in her car and pointed it in the direction of Marczyk Fine Foods. While driving, she remote dialed the number she had only recently memorized and waited for the other end to connect.

"Hello?" Rita asked after the third ring.

"Rita, hi!" Shane greeted excitedly.

"Oh, hi Shane!" the brunette responded. "How's your day off going?"

"Great," Shane told her. "But I am starting to get hungry and wanted to know if you guys wanted another night in? I can stop at the market and pick up some hot soup and the makings for some sandwiches and salad, maybe?"

"That sounds better what I had planned," Rita informed her. "Which was nothing. Have you spoken to Norman or Oliver yet?"

"I don't have either one of their numbers," Shane admitted. "Could you do me a favor? Could you call them for me?"

"Sure. Give me half an hour and I will call you back, OK?" Rita requested.

"OK," Shane agreed.

SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD

4:00 PM

Oliver's phone was ringing as he walked through his front door. He placed his bags on the counter and picked up the handset off its cradle.

"Hello?" he answered, digging through the bags and placing his groceries on the counter.

"Hi Oliver!" Rita's bubbly voice came from the other end of the line.

"Rita?" Oliver asked, afraid something was wrong. Rita rarely called him on the weekends unless there was an urgent need. "Is everything OK?

"Oh, I'm fine!" she assured him. "I was just wondering if you wanted to join me and Norman at Shane's hotel suite for another dinner in? Maybe we can actually watch a movie this time!"

"Oh, uh, Rita," he stammered. "Thank you, um, for the, uh, invitation, but perhaps Ms. McInerney has, um, other, uh, plans with a, a boyfriend, perhaps?

The suggestion was difficult for him to even contemplate, and even more difficult for him to voice, but he didn't wish to beat around the bush. If she was involved with someone and she was happy, then he wanted to wish her well.

"Boyfriend?" Rita asked. "She doesn't have a boyfriend, Oliver, or at least none that I know of. She called me about half an hour ago and asked if the three of us wanted a night in. She said she would stop at the market and get some hot soup and the fixings for some sandwiches and a dinner salad."

Oliver's heart lightened. She hadn't been purchasing food to cook for a boyfriend, after all! He thought back to what she had had in her cart: soup, arugula, goat's cheese, pears, walnuts, champagne vinaigrette, whole grain bread, tomatoes, avocado, pre-cooked bacon, and wine. Nothing that needed a stove or oven or even a microwave to prepare. Still, there was the matter of that dinner she had rushed back to Denver for from the Bluegrass Festival the previous weekend.

Wait, didn't she purchase her home on that day? " _I'm staying at the Brown Palace until the house I bought two days ago closes_ ," she had said while they were walking to the Mailbox Grille the previous Monday evening. Suddenly, something else she had said later that evening came back to him and he suddenly felt foolish for his assumptions: " _I have eaten at my hotel, mostly…Oh, and I had dinner with my realtor at the Meadowlark Kitchen on Saturday night._ "

So it _had_ been a business dinner he had overheard her scheduling on their way into the Bluegrass Festival and _not_ a dinner with a boyfriend who cared too little about her to share her interests!

"Oliver?" Rita's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you still there?"

"I am, yes," he acknowledged quickly. "Please thank Ms. McInerney for the kind invitation, Rita, but I have just completed my own shopping expedition for my evening meal. Another evening, however, I would be happy to accept."

"Oh," Rita replied. "OK, Oliver. Have a nice evening. We'll see you tomorrow at work?"

"Of course," he affirmed. "Tomorrow."

He hung up and sighed. _Eleanor was right yesterday, Lord. I need to guard my heart. I could easily fall for Ms. McInerney, but that would not be fair to her, it would not be fair to Holly, and it would not be fair to me. Help me maintain a professional distance, Lord, I pray. And Lord, I pray for Holly, too. I pray she is happy, healthy and safe. For nearly two years I have wondered, and worried, and prayed. Please bring an answer to my prayers soon, one way or another. If she wishes to come home, please let her come soon. If, however, she no longer wants me for a husband, I pray she finds a way to let me know so that I can go on with my life and she may go on with hers. In Jesus' name, Amen._

SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD SSD

7:30 PM

"Does anyone want to play a game of chess?" Shane asked, after she had cleared their dinner dishes and had served coffee and slices of the cake she had bought that afternoon.

"We don't play," Rita answered.

"Wait, _you_ play chess?" Norman asked in surprise.

"Yes," she answered slowly. "Why does that surprise you?"

"Well, uh," he stammered. "It's not that it surprises me, exactly. It's just that Oliver plays chess, too."

"I know," Shane replied steadily.

"Oh, so he told you," Norman assumed.

"No," Shane laughed. "But its kind of hard to miss the chessboard set up right in front of his desk. I assume it's not just there to fill space."

"Maybe you guys could play sometime!" Rita suggested. "Are you any good?"

"Well, my dad started teaching me when I was four," she explained. "By the time he left when I was ten, I was beating him at every game. I joined the Chess Clubs in Junior High and High School, and was on the Chess Team in college, competing all over the East Coast. One time I even went to an international competition in Beijing. _That_ was fun! Challenging, but fun."

"Then I _definitely_ don't want to play against you," Norman stated emphatically. "No offense. But I wouldn't mind watching a game between you and Oliver sometime."

A short time later, Rita indicated that they should be going, as they had to work the next morning and a new supervisor to meet. "I wonder what the new supervisor will be like," she mused, pulling on her jacket.

"Whoever they are," Shane concluded, "They cannot _possibly_ be any worse than Andrea was!" _Thank you, Becky_ , Shane thought. _I don't think I could have taken another day of Andrea's snarky attitude without attempting homicide._

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Please review and let me know what you thought! Up next: Monday morning, the introduction of Theresa Capodiamonte, and Owen/Casey's letter!**


	2. Introducing Theresa Capodiamonte

**A/N: I still don't own them; they belong to Martha Williamson. Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed Chapter 1; I love that so much! This is now Monday morning, with the introduction of Theresa Capodiamonte and Owen/Casey's letter!**

7:45 AM

"Who is that?" Shane asked Eleanor, who she had met on the floor.

"Oh, honey," Eleanor laughed. "Didn't Oliver tell you we were getting a new supervisor?"

"Well, yes I knew _that_ ," Shane insisted. "But I didn't know that was her, and I don't know what her name is."

"Theresa Capodiamonte," Eleanor recited. "She's been in the Postal Service longer than I have.

"Isn't she a little…mature…to be starting a new position?" Shane hedged, not wanting to offend her new friend, who – although not technically _old_ – still had a few more miles than she and Oliver did.

She needn't have worried. Eleanor laughed at the joke, agreeing that new positions should be taken by the less-seasoned veterans of the Service. The two chatted companionably until someone came up, demanding Eleanor's attention. Shane greeted another person on the floor after they left, and moved to join Oliver when she saw him rounding the corner.

"Oh, Good morning, Ms. McInerney," Oliver greeted as she neared him. "I trust you had a good weekend?"

"I did!" she replied enthusiastically. "I went to the Digital Sports Expo at the Convention Center. I skied Mt. Everest, wind-surfed Acapulco, and swam the English Channel, and that was just at the Video Vacations Exhibit." _Why didn't you come with Norman and Rita to dinner last night? Did you have other plans. Rita said you had just gone shopping, and Norman said you frequent Marczyk Foods, but I did not see you there._

"All that adventure without the inconvenience of fresh air and sunshine." He exaggerated a shudder. "Ingenious." _Why are you so obsessed with technology? What is wrong with actually_ _ **experiencing**_ _life rather than playing at it?_

"What about you?" she asked. "What did you do? Anything exciting?"

"Ms. McInerney," he answered primly, not ready to tell her about the dance lessons he had enrolled in as a result of his one dance with her…and certainly not willing to divulge that he had seen her at Marczyk Fine Foods but had refused to greet her while there. "I don't think you've been with this department long enough to fully grasp the extent to which we are comfortable sharing personal information."

He pushed his way into the hallway that would lead them to their office, she following right behind.

"So you're not gonna share with me what you did this weekend?" she translated. _He never comes out and says what he is actually thinking. Everything he says is in riddles._

"No," he replied succinctly.

"Oh." She shrugged mentally. "So, last week when you told me that your wife left you last year and is now somewhere at large in Paris, that was somehow…different." She swept past him as he held the door open for her to the DLO. "Hmm." _Was there some ulterior motive to that confession, then? Were you trying to accomplish something that only could be gotten by revealing something so…personal?_

 _I only told you that to get you to divulge what had been hurting you all week! I was trying to help you heal from the pain and to get you to move past it so that it would no longer have any power over you._ "Everyone," he announced aloud, removing his jacket and hanging it up on the coat rack. " _Please_ be prepared to present our best faces today. We have been assigned a new supervisor who—"

"Oh!" Shane interjected. "I saw her. Um, Theresa Cappuci? Kappa Dammotti or something Italian."

"Theresa Capodiamonte?" Oliver inquired, awe struck at the revelation.

"Yeah!" she confirmed, snapping. "That's it! She's rather mature-looking."

"Theresa Capodiamonte is a legend," Oliver explained. "Do you see this cup? This is only given to exceptional individuals who have distinguished themselves in the service of Mail Delivery." He handed his cup to her for her to examine closer.

"' _Dark-of-Night Award'_?" she read. _What in the world…I did not realize that he had been awarded one of these. Wait, who is Chester O'Toole?_

"' _Neither rain, nor sleet, nor dark of night…'_ " Rita quoted.

"It was my grandfather's," Oliver explained, accepting the cup back from Shane.

 _That explains that mystery,_ Shane thought.

"Theresa Capodiamonte has _six_ cups," Norman added.

"She's a _Rockstar_!" Rita exclaimed in hushed tones.

"Six-time Dark-of-Night honoree," Oliver continued. "A Government pay-grade pioneer, not to mention 'Miss Special Delivery' of 1969. She is a Goddess in the Postal Acropolis!"

 _So she's Athena in mortal form?_ Shane asked herself. _How come I have never heard of such a paragon? I have worked in the Postal Service nearly as long as Oliver has!_

"And she's really right out there?" Oliver gestured behind him.

 _Well, not anymore, Oliver,_ Shane acknowledged mentally, glancing behind him.

"Actually s-she's—" Norman stuttered, gesturing.

"She's right in here, honey!" came a voice from behind him.

"Oh my goodness!" Oliver gasped, spinning around. "Ms. Capodiamonte! Welcome, I'm uh—" _Why did not one member of my team tell me she was just behind me?!_

"My dear," she interjected, taking his hand to shake. "You are Oliver O'Toole!"

 _She knows my name!_ Oliver stared at her in wonder. _How, though?_

"I knew your grandfather," she added.

"You did?" he asked. _My grandfather retired from the Post Office in 1979, after 50 years in the Service. When did she meet him?_

"He was so strong," she insisted. "So powerful. What a mind. What hands! That man could hand-stamp anything. I see him in you."

"You do?" _She might be a little_ _ **too**_ _obsessed with my grandfather…she acts like she knew him well, but he must have been thirty years older than she was._

"Oh, yes," she assured him. "You have his hands. And his cup, apparently!" _I have his hands? How would she even know that after so long?_

"Uh, yes," he responded. "As a matter of fact—"

"And you, Darlings—" she cut him off, moving to introduce herself to the others. "Tell me, you are?" She stood in front of Norman.

"Norman Xavier Dorman, Junior," he bowed.

 _Norman Dorman?_ Shane asked herself. _Wade's last name is Dorman, and he said he though that he had a cousin who worked for the Post Office…I wonder if that cousin could be Norman?_

"Norman Dorman?" she clarified. At his nod, she added, "A pleasure. And, uh" she moved in front of Rita. "Rita Hayworth?" Eyes large, she glanced at Rita.

"Oh," Rita responded automatically, by now used to people mistaking her name for the famous actress'. "It's actually, um, 'with,' so 'Rita Hay _with_.'"

"'With?'" Theresa inquired.

"-with." Rita affirmed.

"-with!"

"-with." _Why doesn't she get it? It's Haywith. Let's keep moving,_ Rita requested silently.

 _Well, this is stimulating conversation,_ Shane thought, amused. _Can we move on please? I think we have established that Rita's last name is not actually Hay_ _ **worth**_ _, but Hay_ _ **with**_ _!_

"-with! Precious. You know, the real Rita was a lot taller."

 _The_ _ **real**_ _Rita?_ Shane lifted her eyebrow. _What, is_ _ **our**_ _Rita somehow_ _ **fake**_ _just because she isn't famous?_

"I handled her Parcel Post," Theresa continued. "Back in my days at the Hollywood Wilcox Station."

"The Hollywood Station at Wilcox?" Norman clarified. "Well, that's on the National Register of Historic Places. You were there?"

"Darling," Theresa explained. "I've worked them all, and I always deliver."

They all chuckled at the pun. _She always delivers…what, exactly?_ Shane thought acerbically. _This woman is just one odd duck, and she seems abnormally obsessed with Oliver._

"And you," Theresa turned to Shane. "Must be—"

"Shane," Shane completed for her. "Shane McInerney."

"Ms. McInerney worked in Direct Line Operations," Oliver explained. "But a small miracle brought her to us."

 _A_ _ **small**_ _miracle, Oliver?_ he asked himself. _Admit it, Ms. McInerney's arrival in your department, invaluable insight and assistance with Charlie Riggs and Kelly, and subsequent decision to stay…that was no small miracle. Only God could have orchestrated that, especially since it seemed – several times – as if the case just could not be solved. Only Shane's tenacity and unwavering belief in Charlie's innocence kept our investigations moving forward._

"There are no small miracles, Oliver…" Theresa informed him. "Only big miracles! They only seem small because we stand so far away from them."

 _I have to admit, all miracles are big in their own ways, but this one was – well – huge! We saved a man's life, reunited a lost love, solved a year-old murder investigation, and gained Ms. McInerney…all in the space of a week!_ "Well, that's something—" he began, but was cut off again.

"Now," Theresa changed the subject. "I have heard so much about this amazing little team of yours, and before we make any changes, I want to understand your inner-sanctum. Now, don't mind me, I'm just going to be here." She sat on a nearby stool. "And you do that voodoo that you do…well."

"I'm sorry," Shane asked, stepping forward. "'Changes'?" _I just got here…is she moving us around already? I don't think this department needs any changes. Well, except for maybe modernizing Mr. Twentieth-Century over there. Still, there is something…uniquely charming…about his old-fashioned values and his sense of personal responsibility._

"I have heard that the four of you have a way of thinking outside the mailbox." Theresa insisted.

"Well," Oliver explained. "We do occasionally, um…" He struggled to find the right word.

"Push the envelope?" Shane suggested for him.

"Oh, aren't you adorable?" Theresa grinned. _There is definitely something between those two. He calls her arrival in his department a miracle, and she completes his sentences for him. He has a wedding band on, but she does not, so perhaps…a clandestine thing. A fling, perhaps?_

"Okay, Oliver," she returned to the subject. "Show me the magic."

"Alright," he agreed, heading to the "In" basket of lost letters. "Hmmhmm…" He flexed his fingers, reached in, and pulled out a small envelope.

"Huh," he muttered after a first glance at the front. "Addressed to: 'Gramma'. No first name, no surname. Address is 'Lend Him Her Manners.'"

"Ooh," Theresa clapped her hands. "Tough one."

 _Oh no, Lady,_ Shane insisted internally. _You don't get to sit there after five minutes and tell Oliver that the job he has held for fifteen_ _ **years**_ _will fail him on this one little letter to 'Gramma'._ Wanting Theresa to understand that – if anyone could solve it, Oliver could – she stated, "Mr. O'Toole has, perhaps, the finest mail-recovery instincts of anyone I've ever worked with." _True story._

Oliver glanced at her and held her gaze appreciatively for a split moment. _Thank you for your faith in my abilities, and for verbalizing it, Ms. McInerney._ "Norman? Age of child?" he asked, handing the envelope to the forensic specialist.

"Between nine and ten," Norman replied after a cursory examination of the handwriting.

Oliver flipped the envelope over after having regained it from Norman. "Reverse side includes a child's drawing, and a P.S. – ' _I'm bringing more spoons so we can make another one.'_ "

"' _Lend Him Her Manners'_ ," Norman quoted. "Her Manners…manor?"

"' _Lend-Him-Her Manor'_ …" Rita whispered to herself, mentally scrolling through names of retirement communities that might match closely with what they had. "Oh! _'Lendimer Manor'_ Retirement Home. 442 Hampden Boulevard, 80210."

Oliver's words from the previous week popped into Shane's memory. " _'A photographic memory is a plus in this business,'_ " he had said. _You really are amazing, Rita! I'd like Theresa to not consider you "the real Rita" now!_

"Bravo!" Theresa applauded. "Send it off to Gramma!"

 _Which Gramma?_ Shane, Oliver, Norman, and Rita all thought at the same time.

"Yes, but" Oliver verbalized hesitantly. "Which Gramma?"

"No flies on you, Oliver!" Theresa announced.

"I certainly hope not," Oliver admitted, chuckling. _What a very disturbing thought!_ he shuddered within before continuing his demonstration. "In the event that we lack a definitive surname, we have no choice but to—" He turned around, wavering for a moment before selecting a small letter-opener with a white handle.

"Ms. Capodiamonte," he offered, holding out both envelope and letter-opener. "Would you…like to do the honors?"

"Sure! Ha!" she replied enthusiastically. "It's like Christmas!" She chuckled as she forced the letter-opener across the top of the envelope, handing both items back to Oliver.

"' _Dear Gramma,'_ " he began. " _'I miss you. I miss you so, so, so, so…so much. I miss walking to school with you. We have to walk three whole blocks to dumb old Lenox Heights Elementary now.'_ " He glanced at Shane, who nodded and pulled her laptop out of her purse, researching the name of the school as he continued reading. " _'I miss making spoons with you. I have mine on our apple tree outside. How about you?'_ 'Making spoons?'" he quoted wonderingly in a soft voice. _"Making spoons"…"I am bringing more spoons so we can make another one." What is this poor child trying to say?_

"What's with this kid and spoons?" Shane wondered, still typing.

Oliver turned back to the letter. " _'They told me I can't see you for a long, long, long, long time. It's not fair, Gramma. I really, really hate it, especially 'cause I don't want to miss your birthday, 'cause we always have peanut butter and banana pancakes for breakfast. I think you live right down the road, so that can't be so far. So I am go-wing…'_ " he flipped the letter over. " _'…to sneak—'_ "

 _Wait, what? That makes no sense!_ He glanced back at the bottom of the previous page before turning back.

"' _ **Going**_ _,'_ " he corrected," _'to sneak out at nine o'clock and ride my bike all night until I get there. Don't worry, I have plenty of air in my tires. See you Tuesday morning. Love, your best friend—You-Know-Who. You have to call me "Owen" now.'_ "

He gazed at Shane, who regarded him thoughtfully before returning her attention to her screen. "Um, postmark is Fort Collins," he informed her as she began typing again. _You-Know-Who,_ she thought. _This child is a reader. He has at least read the Harry Potter series._

"Oh!" Norman interjected. "Uh, my cousin, Wade, is a Real Estate Tycoon there. He owes me thirty-eight dollars."

 _So Norman_ _ **is**_ _Wade's cousin!_ Shane thought triumphantly. _I knew it!_

"Fort Collins…" Rita mumbled, lost in thought. _That seems awfully far for him to be riding his bike…_

"Fort Collins—" Shane announced. "32.4 miles from Lendimer Manor."

"Oh!" Rita gasped. "That's way too far for a little boy to be riding his bike. Alone, at night?"

"Oliver," Shane asked, turning her gaze on him. "When was that letter mailed?" _Please tell me it was within the last week! We need to find him, to stop him! I don't want to hear that this letter is old, then find out that Owen took that bike ride and something terrible happened to him during his trip!_

"Uh, last Friday," he replied, glancing at the postmark. "That little boy is going to sneak out of his house and run away from home."

"Tonight," he and Shane concluded at the same time.

"We have to stop him, Oliver," Shane pleaded. "We have to find Owen's grandmother and let her know his plans so we can contact his parents before he runs away." _We still have time to do that! Please, Oliver, help me out._

He gazed at her, his heart softening as he nodded. _Lord, why can I deny her nothing? All she has to do is look at me like she is right now, tears pooling in her eyes, and I melt. We'll go and find Owen's grandmother if that is what she wishes. I don't know how, but I am trusting You to guide our investigation again, Lord. This little boy's life may be in danger, and I do not wish to disappoint Shane. Perform this miracle, Lord, I pray. Amen._

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Please let me know what you think! Since this whole episode takes place in just one day, I am going to divide it up into four or five chapters to fit everything in. Up next: the POstables' first trip to Lendimer Manor, and the introduction of Vivian Lasseter (and Donna).**


	3. Lendimer Manor

**A/N: I still own nothing but my imagination. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, or tweeted about this story. This is still Monday morning, now at Lendimer Manor, with the introduction of Vivian Lasseter – and Donna. Please let me know what you think! -Desiree**

Monday, June 29, 2014

9:00 AM

Norman hurried to his desk, collecting several items to put into a small leather suitcase. "Okay," he announced, clearly making a mental checklist. "Recon Lendimer Manor Retirement Home, I.D. Gramma, deliver communique, debrief subject, intercept the kid, A.K.A. 'Owen', thwart his exit, mission accomplished." _This is so exciting…like secret agent work. Only better, because we work for the U.S. Post Office!_

"What's all that, Norman?" Rita asked, peering into the suitcase with Shane. _Collapsible traffic cones, a reflective vest, a badge on a lanyard? Does he expect we'll have to set up a road block or something?_

"This is my field kit," Norman explained. "I'm thinking, now that we're gonna be in the field more, we should be prepared for anything."

"Yeah," Shane snickered. "'Cause you never know when Gramma might go rogue on you."

"No," Norman – now wearing sunglasses – agreed, closing the suitcase and picking it up. "You don't."

The ladies followed Norman to the door, Oliver and Theresa right behind them. "Does it really take four people to deliver a letter to Grandma?" Shane inquired. _Shouldn't some of us stay behind to…I don't know…keep an eye on the odd lady with the O'Toole obsession?_

"' _No Postal Worker stands taller than when he, or she, stoops to deliver to the least of these,'_ " Theresa quoted proudly, turning to Oliver. "Your grandfather taught me that." She watched as the foursome left the building, then reentered the DLO. There was something she wanted to try since the DLO was such a large space, but did not want to do it in front of the Dead Letter team.

"Well, that was certainly…interesting," Oliver told Shane as they walked through the sorting floor.

"She has a _terrible_ crush on either you or your grandfather, or both of you," Shane whispered to him as they left the building and made their way to his car. "You know that, right?"

"She does seem…abnormally taken…with my grandfather," Oliver acknowledged with a blush, opening the passenger door for her. "However, he was too old for her and I am too young, so your point is moot."

He shut the door once she had slid in, rounded the car, shut the door after Rita had seated herself, and angled himself into the driver's seat.

"Moot point or not," Shane continued as he began driving. "I predict that she will continue to ply you with stories of your grandfather – whether real or imagined – until…well, I can't actually imagine what her purpose is yet. I mean, how many rookies get close enough to a Postal veteran to observe his hands, then comment on it forty-some-odd years later to his _grandson_ within sixty seconds of meeting him?"

"She did know an awful lot about you, Oliver," Rita added.

"And, while she was excited to meet you," Norman realized. "She was less excited to meet us. Almost like we were afterthoughts. I mean, how many times did she and Rita go back and forth about the proper pronunciation of Rita's last name?"

"Oh, I'm used to that, though, Norman," Rita sighed. "Nobody ever gets it right the first time."

"That's enough commentary on Ms. Capodiamonte, everyone," Oliver requested, pulling into the circular drive and shutting off the engine. "We're here."

The four friends climbed out of the car and entered the retirement home.

"Everybody's so busy here," Rita commented, looking around at all the bustling activity. "Where are all of the old people?"

"Well, my grandmother got her black belt in Tae Kwan Do when she was 85," Norman offered.

 _It must be nice to be so active at such an age,_ Oliver thought. _To be surrounded by people with similar interests in the twilight of one's life must be wonderful, Lord. I wish—it would be so nice to have a home like this for retired Postal Workers_

Shane sighed. "So, now what?" she turned to Oliver for guidance, who was looking across the room at who appeared to be a person in charge.

"There's someone who may help us," he replied, gesturing. He led the way, followed by Shane and Rita.

Norman, passing by a room where a woman was looking through her stamp collection, glanced over and commented, "Wow. Look at all those stamps!" Looking back to see which direction his friends had gone, he entered the room to get a better look. "Is that a 2002 Olympic Bobsled Commemorative?"

"Yes, it is," the lady replied, turning the book so he could see better. "I'm Arlene. What's your name?"

"Norman," he replied, grinning. "Norman Dorman."

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Oliver approached the brunette that was assisting the residents. "Excuse me," he interrupted. "I wonder if you can help us. My name is Oliver O'Toole; these are my colleagues Shane McInerney and Rita Haywith."

She held out her hand. "Donna," she offered.

Shane and Oliver exchanged glances. _What, she doesn't have a last name?_ Shane thought. _That is…odd._

"We are from the United States Postal Service and are trying to find the recipient of a letter that was misdirected." Oliver reached into his inside breast pocket and pulled out his bifold credentials, offering it to the woman.

"I'm sorry," Donna apologized, studying Oliver's credentials. "I don't understand. You're like the mail police?"

"We investigate difficult, uh, delivery situations," Oliver explained, reclaiming his credentials from Donna.

"Sort of like, Mail-Detective/Agent…people," Shane added. _Believe me, lady, we know you are hiding something, and we will get to the bottom of it._

"Now," Oliver handed her the letter. "It is imperative that we locate the woman to whom this letter is addressed. Today."

"Gramma?" Donna asked mockingly, reading the address. _Really? These people_ _ **do**_ _know that we are in a retirement home, right? I mean, there must be fifty Grammas here at least. On the other hand, maybe this Gramma is Vivian, which would mean that this letter is from Casey!_

"Mm-hmm," he affirmed.

"Well, that narrows it down," she sneered. At his smile, she flipped the envelope over and began to pull the letter out. _Let me just look at it and see if there is anything in it to indicate that it_ _ **is**_ _a letter from Casey Lasseter, and if so, where he is holed up at._

Oliver placed his hands on the envelope, holding it closed and pulling it out of her hands. "Sorry," he stated, not sorry at all. "I can't let you read the contents."

 _Did she honestly think we would allow her to read that letter?_ Shane asked internally. _Not likely, lady. Detective O'Toole is on the case!_

"Federal Regulations," Rita clarified.

"Well, maybe if you told me what it says," Donna suggested, anxious for any clue that this letter might be the key she had been hoping for to unlock the whereabouts of that pesky kid. "I'd recognize a name. Everybody brags about their grandchildren."

 _Now she's asking us to_ _ **tell**_ _her what the letter says? She has a lot of nerve!_ "Has anyone ever mentioned an Owen?" Shane asked, looking at Oliver. _Oliver, look me in the eyes, please! Let me know that you dislike this woman as much as I do!_

"Owen?" Donna murmured. "No, that's a new one. Of course, I've only been here a few months. How can I help?"

"Well," Oliver began, finally looking Shane in the eyes and conveying the message that he distrusted Donna as much as she did. "Perhaps, my colleagues and I could…speak to the residents here to see if any of them are known as Gramma by a grandson?"

"Of course," Donna affirmed, dejected that they would not need her to go with them. "Take as long as you need."

The three colleagues split up, Oliver taking the West wing of the Home, Shane the East, and Rita the outside. They scoured the campus for the next hour, finally meeting back in the entry way, no closer to finding Owen's Gramma than they had been when they had arrived.

"Well, so far I've got two Nonnas, three Maw-Maws, and a Bubby," Oliver stated flatly, flipping through his note cards.

"Oma, Ama, Mimi, Nini," Rita added.

"Well," Shane concluded. "I got a couple of Mo-Mos, two Mor-Mors, three Babas, and a…oh, a Shirley."

"Oh, Shirley!" Rita exclaimed. "Oh, I met her. She was left at the altar in 1959 by a butcher who disappeared the night before their wedding. Shirley suspects that he was abducted by aliens. I also think that she has a problem with stealing things. Like, I think she lifted your tablet."

 _Wonderful,_ Oliver thought cynically. _A kleptomaniac alien enthusiast could be our Gramma? Perfect._

Shane looked in her purse and, sure enough, her tablet was missing. She turned around and approached the table where Shirley was sitting. As she walked up, Shirley stood.

Oliver watched as Shane told Shirley that she believed Shirley had mistaken her tablet for Shirley's own. He heard the older woman state that she had been checking it for "transmissions of prime numbers from the Vega solar system." _What does that even mean?_ Oliver asked himself.

He heard Shane state that she had checked them that morning, then her voice dropped below where he could hear it. _What is she saying now? Lord, why can we not get her to restrict her tongue? She actually seems to be humoring this woman._ He covered his face with his palm in frustration.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

"Oh, man," Norman stated, pointing. "That's a 5-cent Jumbo 505 error-graded Jefferson." _I've never seen such a large stamp collection! I would love to own something like this when I get older!_

Arlene gasped. "My daddy gave me that," she acknowledged. "And you're the first one ever to recognize it." _Oh, Norman! I never had children, and I was an only child. I would like to have someone to pass this collection on to…someone who will appreciate them the way my daddy did…_

"Well, I used to sell stamps at the Park Hill branch," Norman explained, blushing. "I mean, until Oliver said I had special gifts, and then brought me to the Dead Letter Office."

"And what do you do there?" Arlene asked, intrigued.

"Oh, sorry, Arlene," Norman apologized. "That's classified. But…tell me more about your dad." _I wish I had had a mom like this…one who wanted to spend time with me and had shared interests with me._

"He left me his entire stamp collection when he died," she stated proudly. "He said he hoped that when I looked at them, I would smile and think of him. And I do." _Maybe I should leave_ _ **you**_ _my stamp collection, Norman. That way, whenever_ _ **you**_ _look at them you will think of me and smile. It would be nice to have someone to remember me when I am gone…which will be soon, if the pain is any indication._

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

"There must be some ladies in residence here who are referred to by their descendants as 'Gramma'," Oliver posited. _Does_ _ **everyone**_ _have some odd, foreign version of the name?_

"I could post it on the bulletin board," Donna offered. _And read it after you have left._

"I'm sorry," Oliver replied. "The privacy of every letter that passes through the U.S. Post Office is a sacred trust, and one we take very seriously."

Hearing piano music playing behind her, Donna suggested, "Wait. Did you try the Piano Room?" _Let me introduce you to Vivian. Once you meet her, I can determine whether or not that letter belongs to her._

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and led the way into the room, where three women were dancing and one was playing on the piano.

"Okay, everybody," she announced as she walked into the room. "Take five. These folks are from the Post Office. If you have a grandson who calls you 'Gramma,' please raise your hand." Three of the ladies raised their hands.

"Well, looks like all the Grammas are in show business," Shane commented. _How is it that we are only_ _ **now**_ _being shown this room? What is it you are hiding, Donna?_

"Thank you, ladies," Oliver said. "I have a letter here written by a boy approximately nine years of age. I can't share details, but do obscure references to 'spoons' ring a bell with anyone?" When nobody raised their hand, he continued, "Um, cutlery of any kind? Anyone?"

Still nothing.

Suddenly, Rita pitched in. "Does anyone have a birthday anytime soon?" she asked.

"Oh," Oliver exclaimed softly. "Very good, Rita. Birthdays? Hmm?"

Still nothing.

"Vivian, dear," Donna crooned. "Don't we have a birthday tomorrow?" _Aha! She has a birthday tomorrow! I am positive that that letter belongs to her! Now if I can just get my hands on it…_

"No," the woman replied.

Donna laughed, glancing at Oliver. "Of course, you do, Vivian." She walked up and put her arms around Vivian, pulling her gently back towards Oliver. "Come, let's talk to this nice man. Here we go, dear. She can remember songs and dance steps, but she can't remember much of anything else sometimes."

 _How dare she say such things about me!_ Vivian thought. _I don't know what she is up to, but ever since she came here she has attempted to plant herself at my side, and I do not appreciate it! Well, we will just see about that, Donna! You will not get any information out of me!_

"Do you remember everyone's birthday?" Shane scoffed. _I find it hard to believe that someone who has admittedly only been here a few months has_ _ **everyone's**_ _birthday memorized. What are you up to, Donna?_

"It's my job," Donna replied sweetly. "This is Vivian Lasseter. One of my favorite people and the star of our show, aren't we, Ms. Viv?"

"Mrs. Lasseter," Oliver began, slowly approaching. "First of all, Happy Birthday. My name is Oliver O'Toole. I believe this belongs to you." He held out the letter, handing it to her to examine. "I apologize it was necessary to open it in order to locate you."

She turned the envelope over and, seeing the drawing on the back, paled and said with a smile, "Well, I'm afraid you've wasted your time." _Take it away, young man, before that Donna sees it! I don't know what it is about her, but there is just something that makes me distrust her! Please, don't believe her for a second!_

She moved to sit in a chair and poured herself a glass of water. When she looked up and noticed all the younger people had followed her – including Donna – she turned to the Activities Director and asked, "Uh…would you get me my red sweater?"

"We look a little peaked, Ms. Viv," Donna countered. "Maybe I should stay with you?"

 _We?_ Vivian asked. _Are you tired out? Did you do_ _ **any**_ _physical activity today besides walk around the Home, prodding your big nose where it doesn't belong?_

"Oh, I really don't think that'll be necess—" She turned to face Rita. "You, dear," she requested, eyes pleading. "Why don't you get it for me? Room 224, by the window."

"Oh," Rita squeaked. "I-I'd be happy to." She scurried off in search of Room 224.

"Would you like one of us to read it to you?" Shane offered, taking the letter and sitting down in the chair across from Vivian.

"Why?" Vivian asked with a nervous laugh. "It doesn't belong to me." _Please do not press me on this subject, young lady… I told you the letter wasn't mine; please just leave me be!_

"Do you recognize the handwriting?" Shane pressed. "Or the picture on the back, perhaps? I bet that that is you and Owen."

"No," Vivian denied. "I don't know anyone named Owen."

"Are you sure?" Donna asked. "Maybe you just haven't seen him for awhile? She doesn't get a lot of visitors." _Are you sure it isn't Casey, perhaps? Just give me some sign that this letter could possibly be from your grandson, and I will find a way to read it to find out where he is._

"Mrs. Lasseter," Shane insisted. "If this is your grandson, we really need to know. It's important." _Please, Mrs. Lasseter, we are trying to save this little boy's life. If he is your grandson, give us some indication so we can help him! If Donna is the problem, we can find a way to get her away from you so Oliver and I can speak to you privately._

"Mrs. Lasseter," Oliver added. "I'd like to leave this with you, but if you refuse to accept delivery, we have no choice but to maintain possession."

"Vivian," Donna urged, crouching down next to her. "Read the letter. Or let me read it for you. There might be something important in there." _Like an address where I can find that meddlesome grandson of yours._

"No!" Vivian replied. "Just go bother somebody else, young lady. What about Sally over there? When's her birthday?"

"I don't know," Donna answered, momentarily speechless. "But, Vivian, dear heart, if there's something—"

"Where is that girl with my sweater?" Vivian demanded, growing visibly shaken by all the demands made on her.

"Sorry," Rita breathed, rushing up. "Here you go." There was something niggling at Rita as she returned to the Piano Room; some detail she had taken in while in Vivian's room that just wouldn't let go of her. She mentally shrugged and turned her attention to what was happening in front of her. She would figure out the puzzle later.

"Thank you," Vivian cried. "Now, please, just take your letter and go away." _Don't come back, if you know what's good for you._

"We're very sorry to have troubled you," Oliver stated sincerely. _Why won't you open up to us? I know that you recognize this letter; I can see it in your eyes. Mrs. Lasseter, I will get to the bottom of this, and I promise you we will help Owen tonight._

"I need a nap," Vivian whispered, shaking her head.

"We apologize again if we said or did anything to upset her," Oliver stated to Donna, ushering Rita and Shane out the door. They left the room and headed down the hallway.

"Norman!" Rita whispered as she passed the room where he was still sitting with Arlene. When he looked up, she tilted her head to indicate that they were leaving.

"Oh, I have to go," Norman said to Arlene. He got up and rushed to the door, then turned back and waved. Smiling, she returned his wave, and he left.

As they were pulling into traffic, Shane lit into Oliver. "Did you notice how sneaky Donna was behaving?" she demanded.

"You mean how she would not leave us alone, attempted multiple times to read the letter, and apparently has no last name?" he asked. At her stunned nod, he added, "I noticed. I agree, Ms. McInerney; there is something definitely underhanded in Donna's manner."

"Can we go eat?" Norman demanded. "I'm starving."

"First things first, Norman," Oliver insisted. "Let us get home and situated. After that, we can decide where we are to go for lunch. I believe it is my turn to pay."

"You would be mistaken, Mr. O'Toole," Shane corrected. "It is my turn, since you bought dinner on Saturday night. Let's try the Mailbox Grille; it just reopened for business today at lunch. Are we still splitting a meal?" Oliver acknowledged her query with a slight nod of the head.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Let me know what you thought! Up next: their return to the DLO, lunch at the (newly renovated) Mailbox Grille, and their return to Lendimer Manor Retirement Home.**


	4. Solving the Puzzle

**A/N: Standard disclaimer applies – I do not own them, they belong to the wonderfully talented Martha Williamson. I also want to apologize for anyone who read Chapter 3 within the first few hours of me posting it last night: I had taken my computer to dinner and left it on the table while I used the restroom, and the waitress (a family friend, but with a bizarre sense of humor) thought it would be funny to take advantage of my absence from the table to "rewrite" some of my paragraphs so that they made little to no sense whatsoever. I only noticed them when I was rereading the chapter on last night and thought that something was not right with the server. Anyhow, I fixed the chapter and now I will NEVER post a chapter without reading it thoroughly first.**

 **Now, on to the story! This is still Monday, our POstable friends are returning to the DLO to find Theresa performing her dance, they go to lunch at the Mailbox Grille, and return to Lendimer Manor. Please, read and review!**

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Monday, June 29, 2014

11:30 AM

The four friends entered the DLO, tired and dejected after their disappointing morning at Lendimer Manor. The sound of piano music brought their attention to the present, however, and they looked up to see Theresa, utilizing every spare inch of floor space in the office, performing an amateurish, unpracticed ballet. They tilted her heads, trying to make sense of the dance. Growing imperceptibly closer, they step forward as one, skirting the edge of the office, still watching their new supervisor.

"I wonder if your grandfather taught her that," Shane teased Oliver in a whisper once they had stopped in front of the refrigerator, pleased when she saw his neck grow slightly pink around his collar. _Good! I'm glad I make you blush sometimes. You need a little shaking up, Mr. O'Toole!_

The dance came to a dramatic close, ending with Theresa leaning backwards over the banister behind Oliver's desk, her head hanging upside down, and eyes just then noticing that she had an audience.

"Oh dear," she muttered, slightly embarrassed.

"I told you we should have gone to lunch," Norman complained to Rita.

"Uh, I believe lunch is an excellent idea, Norman," Oliver acknowledged slowly.

"Yeah! Starving!" Shane exclaimed.

Not wanting the four of them to appear rude, Oliver asked, "Ms. Capodiamonte, would you like to join us?"

Shane, not thrilled with the idea of Theresa joining them for lunch, but also recognizing that Oliver – ever the consummate gentleman – would be mortified if they did not at least make a pretense of welcoming their new supervisor for their meal since she was directly in front of them when they decided to go, added, "Yeah, we were just going to try out the Mailbox Grille. It's just re-opening in a little less than half an hour."

"They were closed all weekend because they were renovating," Rita explained. "They are a restaurant now but before, they were a bar."

"Sounds wonderful!" Theresa agreed, pleased that her dance did not appear to have put the four members of the DLO staff – particularly Oliver – out of joint with her.

The five walked the block up the street to the newly-renovated restaurant, surprised to see that it appeared to have opened its doors early. They crowded into a booth in the back, accepted menus from the waitress, and ordered waters to drink.

"I believe it is your turn to decide, Ms. McInerney," Oliver offered, sliding the menu closer to her.

"And you would be mistaken once again, Mr. O'Toole," she laughed. "That celebratory dinner you arranged on Saturday night must have mixed you up a little. I chose the Maryland Benedict for breakfast last Friday, remember?"

"Ah, yes," he agreed, then inclined his head to hers. "But I chose the meal on Saturday night at that selfsame celebratory dinner, if I recall rightly. It is your turn to decide."

Rita glanced at the two, smiling fondly. _If only Holly would let Oliver go once and for all…he would be free to pursue Shane. It's clear that he wants to, that he likes her. I think she could like him, too, if there wasn't such a—an elephant in the room, separating them._

"What are they talking about?" Theresa asked Norman, gesturing to Shane and Oliver.

"Oliver and Shane share meals," Rita replied automatically. "Since neither of them are very big eaters, they split an entrée whenever we go out to eat."

"How…interesting," Theresa stated, grinning.

Blushing, Shane held the menu over a little so she and Oliver could both look at it. "Maybe we should decide together this time," she suggested quietly.

"Yes," he agreed. They glanced through the menu for a moment, before each pointing to the same thing at the same time on the "Specials" page.

"It sounds delicious," Shane stated, impressed at the menu already.

"It does," Oliver agreed. "If this menu is any indication, I believe we will be spending a lot of our time here."

The waitress, Angie, came up with their waters, ready to take their food orders. Rita and Theresa each ordered a BLTA with a cup of soup du jour and a side salad. Norman requested a double bacon cheeseburger with fries.

When Angie turned to Oliver, he said, "We will share an order of the DLO Special Delivery, please."

"The what?" Norman asked, picking up the menu again. "Where did you find that?"

"Last page, under 'Weekly Specials', Norman," Shane replied, taking a sip of her water.

"Did you want a soup or salad with that?" Angie asked.

"Soup," they responded simultaneously.

"A cup of soup each," Oliver clarified.

"I found it!" Rita announced. " _'DLO Special Delivery – Pan-seared Duck Breast over a warm Lentil Salad, drizzled with a spicy Orange sauce. All entrees come with choice of soup or salad,'_ " she read. "Oh, I get it! DLO: Duck, Lentils, Orange…clever! Can I change my order to that? With the soup?"

"Same here," Norman requested, handing his menu over.

Angie scribbled their orders down and returned to the kitchen.

Once she had gone, Theresa – knowing that she had to explain about her behavior earlier in the DLO – chuckled. "I ran away once to New York," she began. "To tread the boards and become a real Hoofer!"

"Ah!" Norman exclaimed. "You wanted to shoe horses?"

"No, a 'Hoofer' is a dancer on Broadway, Norman," Shane explained. _She would have needed much more practice to actually make it as a Hoofer, however._

"I think that's lovely," Rita breathed longingly. "And very romantic."

"But I thought the Postal Service was in your blood," Oliver objected. _Wait, she_ _ **didn't**_ _want to work for the U.S. Postal Service? How could anyone decide to do anything else? To me, there is no higher calling than what I do._

"It was in my father's blood," Theresa countered. "Not mine. He never had a son, so I was the one who was carrying on the Family Tradition." She chuckled again fondly. "The things we sacrifice for the people we love. Hmm?"

 _How can she call it a sacrifice in front of Oliver?_ Shane asked herself. _To him, the Postal Service in general – and the DLO, in particular – is "a high calling indeed, Cheryl". Surely she must know he believes that if she knows the O'Toole men as well as she claims!_

"But hey," Theresa pulled Shane out of her thoughts. "Look at me. What did you call me? A Goddess in the Postal Acropolis?"

"Did you ever get to New York?" Norman asked after they had all had a good laugh.

"I got as far as the bus depot," she chuckled for the third time. "And my parents caught up to me and brought me home. But they were right. I was too young. But then I waited too long, and I woke up one day, and I…was too old. So, _'To thine own self be true,'_ right? That's what your grandfather always said."

 _OK, that is sad,_ Shane acknowledged. _I suppose, just because Oliver, Norman, Rita, and I love our jobs doesn't mean that the Postal Service is for everyone. For her to work for nearly fifty years at a job she clearly didn't want in the first place, just to wake up one morning and understand that she would never be able to realize her true passion, must be a hard pill for her to swallow._ She decided then that, no matter how odd or peculiar Theresa seemed to her, she would no longer judge her for it.

"Yes, he loved his Shakespeare," Oliver replied fondly.

"And you loved him," Theresa insisted. "I can tell."

"Well," Oliver clarified. "I wish he had lived longer so I could have…known him better." He sighed, remembering that last Christmas in the San Juan Islands when his grandfather was sick and dying. He remembered being so scared he would never see him again, and he had been correct. After that trip, he never had seen his grandfather again.

Theresa, sensing he was lost in memories, said, "You're a good boy, Oliver. Yeah. So!" she changed the subject brightly. "Tell me. Did you find your 'Gramma'?"

"We think we did," Rita sighed. "But she wouldn't admit it." _I wish I knew why, though. She seemed not to like that Donna person so much, but that's understandable. What kind of person introduces themselves without stating a last name?_

"I think that Owen is her grandson," Shane insisted. "And there's something that she's not saying, because—I don't—it just doesn't add up." _There is something we are missing here, if we can just figure out what it is, we can solve this case in time to help Owen._

"Did you notice how Mrs. Lasseter became upset when she saw Owen's drawing on the back of the envelope?" Oliver queried. _I know you noticed it, Ms. McInerney, since you mentioned the drawing to her after Rita had gone to fetch her sweater, but I want the others to understand what happened when they were not around._

"That's when she asked Donna to leave, to get her sweater," Rita realized, something, some detail still niggling at the back of her mind. "But when I brought it back, she never put it on."

"Vivian wanted Donna to leave the room," Oliver pointed out. That much had been painfully clear to both himself and Shane. _Lord, we are so close. Reveal the key to this puzzle, please. Help us discover what it is that Mrs. Lasseter is afraid of so that Shane and I may speak to her privately in order to help Owen. This is important, Lord, and it seems especially so to Ms. McInerney. Please, I don't want to disappoint her, and I don't want anything to happen to Owen if we can prevent it. Guide our way, I pray. Amen._

"And Donna was awfully eager to read that letter," Rita added.

"And Vivian made an awfully big deal about how she didn't know anybody named Owen," Shane finished. _That was after Rita left, I think, but it is still an important piece to this puzzle._

"Wait a second!" Oliver exclaimed. "Didn't Donna say she knew everyone's birthday?"

"That's right!" Shane realized. "Except she didn't know Sally's. And Vivian made sure that we heard that."

"So Donna's taken a real interest in Vivian," Oliver theorized. "But why?" _What are we missing, Lord? Help us decipher this. Provide some sign, some trigger, some key that will unlock the door for us._

Norman, not having anything much of value to contribute to this brainstorming session due to his time spent with Arlene, idly tapped his spoon against his water glass.

 _Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink._

"Oh! Spoons!" Rita gasped. "I saw them! She had windchimes in her room made out of old spoons! I bet you that's why Vivian got me to go get her sweater!"

"And Owen was bringing more spoons _'to make another one,'_ " Norman pointed out, excitedly shaking the spoon he held.

Shane got an idea. "What was it you said about family and how we make sacrifices for those that we love?" she asked Theresa.

"Yes!" the older woman agreed.

Shane looked at Oliver. "Vivian wasn't _rejecting_ Owen," she began as his gaze met hers.

"She was _protecting_ him," he finished for her. She nodded, tears welling up again. Wordlessly, he handed his handkerchief to her so she could dry her eyes, just as Angie came up with their soups, which happened to be French Onion that day.

Shane grinned at Oliver, who gazed at her wryly. "I should have asked what the soup of the day was," he grimaced, tasting a spoonful of it anyway. "Mmm…it's delicious, though."

"Do you not like French Onion soup, Oliver?" Theresa inquired.

Begging Shane with his eyes to keep quiet on the subject, he merely responded, "Just a private…joke…between myself and Ms. McInerney."

Shane, unable to contain her mirth anymore, giggled, coughing when the spoonful of soup she had been sampling went down the wrong tube. "Very private," she squeaked, ignoring the mock glare he sent her. Still coughing, she took a sip of water to clear her throat.

"Are you alright?" he asked in some concern.

"Fine," she answered, finally able to catch her breath. They finished their soups without further incident and, within ten minutes, their entrees were coming out.

"A BLTA sandwich with a side salad," Angie announced, placing the plate in front of Theresa. "And three DLO Special Deliveries," setting a plate each in front of Norman and Rita, and the last one between Shane and Oliver, along with an empty plate.

"Wow, this looks fantastic," Shane stated as Oliver began to place half their meal on the extra plate.

"It smells amazing," he agreed, handing her one of the plates and pulling the other one in front of himself. The duck had been seared perfectly and was a nice medium rare in the middle. The Lentil salad had quinoa, tomatoes, arugula, pine nuts, dried cherries, and goat's cheese in it, and the orange sauce drizzled over the duck slices but did not interfere with the presentation in any way.

"Oh, this is so good," Rita announced after she had swallowed a bite of duck with some of the salad and a tiny bit of sauce.

"I think we have found our go-to restaurant," Oliver announced, pleased with the direction their old watering-hole had taken.

"Absolutely," Shane agreed. The others nodded.

After lunch, Shane walked up to the register to pay the bill, Oliver following behind. "Ms. McInerney," he began. "I believe, when we get back to Lendimer Manor, it would be best if you and I spoke to Vivian privately."

"I agree, Oliver," she replied, signing the credit slip and leaving a tip. "We can have Norman talk to that woman, Arlene, who he was with this morning, to find out anything he can on Donna. And Rita, well—"

"…Can be used as a distraction for Donna," he finished the thought she did not want to voice. She nodded, abashedly. "Excellent thinking, Ms. McInerney. Our Rita can hold a spirited conversation on almost any subject, given that she remembers everything she reads or hears."

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

"So, Norman, dig up anything you can about Donna," Oliver instructed as they entered the lobby. _I don't know what we will do with such information, but if it keeps Donna from ever seeing Norman, that might come in handy at some point. Who knows?_ "Rita, do whatever you have to do to keep Donna away from Vivian. We rendezvous back here in 20 minutes."

"She was in Room 224," Shane recalled once they left the lobby.

"I think it's this way," Oliver pointed, leading Shane down a corridor. "Yes, here it is," he announced a few minutes later as they stopped outside a door.

Shane knocked softly on the door. "Mrs. Lasseter?" she called softly, opening it. Hearing no reply, she stepped in, followed by Oliver, who gently shut the door.

Seeing the windchimes, Shane approached the window. "Do you remember what Owen said?" she asked Oliver, running her fingers through the chimes. " _'I miss making spoons with you. I have mine hanging on the apple tree outside.'_ I bet…they both made one." She walked back to Oliver, turning when she heard the voice come from behind her.

"We did," Vivian admitted quietly. "The day we made those windchimes…was the last day I saw him. I said they sounded like little birds saying a prayer. And he said no matter how far apart we are, we should always leave them up…so that when the wind blew, it would be as if our windchimes were saying their prayers together." She smiled sadly, thinking of her son, daughter-in-law, and grandson hiding out goodness-knows-where with no freedom, no choices. It was almost as if they were in prison themselves. She sat in her rocking chair. "You never imagine when you get to be my age, that a nine-year-old boy could be your best friend, or that I could be his." _He is, though. He is my pride and joy, my best friend. And I miss him and worry about him terribly. About all of them._

"Mrs. Lasseter," Oliver promised. "Your grandson needs you very much. If you trust us, we'll do everything in our power to help you."

"I know you would try," Vivian acknowledged with a sigh. "But you can't." _I don't believe for a second that you are simply a Postal Worker as you say, Mr. O'Toole…what Postal Worker goes to such lengths just to deliver one letter from a little boy to his Grandmother? You and your friends must work for the government in some other official capacity and simply use the Post Office as a cover._

"Mrs. Lasseter…" Shane insisted, crouching beside her. "Please. Where is Owen?"

 _Lord,_ Oliver prayed. _Only you can soften her heart and get her to trust us with the truth. Give Shane and I the words to say that will accomplish that goal, as she certainly has no reason to believe us. Guide our hearts and our minds, Lord, and direct our speech so that we my minister unto this woman who, even now, is grieving for a grandson she has not seen for what must be no small amount of time._

"His name is Casey," Vivian corrected, crying. "And, uh, I don't know where he is. I don't know where any of them are."

"Do you mean your family?" Shane asked sympathetically. "Are they in trouble?" _Why? What could possibly have happened to them? Have they been taken? Is that the "they" Owen…Casey…had been talking about in his letter?_

"They're in Witness Protection," Vivian explained, gazing steadily at Oliver.

Shane stood, gathered her purse, and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her computer out of its pocket. She began to type as she heard the story from Vivian.

"So," Oliver inquired. "Owen's, uh, Casey's father witnessed a crime, then?" _Lord, no wonder she is so afraid to say anything! She really is protecting them, all of them. What a burden this must have been for her to carry alone! Let me relieve that burden from her, Lord. Let me reunite this strong, amazing woman with her family so they need not be separated anymore._

"No," Vivian replied emphatically. "Casey did. He was riding his bike down an alley and he stumbled onto some sort of lowlife narcotics ring just before a shooting. And now my grandson is the star witness, and he and the family have had to hide out at some 'undisclosed location' until he can testify against them at the trial next week."

 _Wow!_ Shane thought. _That is terrible! That poor little boy…what a responsibility he has at such a young age. No wonder he misses his Gramma; his whole world is turned upside down and he's powerless to stop it! He probably just wants something familiar to hold on to…even if it is just making windchimes out of spoons and sharing peanut butter banana pancakes for a birthday breakfast with the person he loves most in the world. I understand that; I would have given anything to have had the same opportunity after my dad left._

"Here it is," she announced, still typing. " _'The trial of Drug Kingpin Laszlo Sarrazin begins next Monday in Federal Court, and—'_ wait, there's a picture of the guy, and…Oh. Wow."

She turned her glance from Vivian to settle her gaze on Oliver, sending him an unspoken message in addition to her spoken one. "Oliver, you might want to take a look at this." _There's no might. Come over here, please. This is huge. We knew there was something not right about her!_

Once he had moved next to her and crouched down to where he could see the screen, she pointed to what she was looking at. "It's a picture of Donna," she whispered to him. "Only she's blonde and her name is Sylvia. She's suspected of drug trafficking."

 _Lord, Shane and I suspected something was odd about Donna's behavior, but we never would have suspected anything so vile, so devious. We must remove Mrs. Lasseter from this facility, Lord, and from Donna's—Sylvia's grasp, because if that woman finds out where Casey is, that little boy's life doesn't stand a chance, and I would never forgive myself. More importantly, Shane would never forgive me, and I can't live with that. We have to find him, Lord. We have to stop him._

"Someone made terrible… _terrible_ threats against my Casey's life, and if that letter has anything in it that could lead them back to him or the family…oh…Donna must never read that letter," Vivian pleaded.

"Mrs. Lasseter," Oliver broached. "He's planning to run away tonight to surprise you for your birthday."

"Oh, no," Vivian moaned. "Oh, my. Oh—no. I should have gone with them. When this whole thing started they wanted me to, and I was afraid I was just going to be a burden. And now, with Casey looking for me, I'm worse than a burden. I'm a liability."

Oliver crouched in front of her, a peace about him. He knew he had the words – given to him by the ultimate Orator – to win her trust in his team. "Mrs. Lasseter," he held out his hand for her to take. "I know how he feels. If I could get on a bicycle and ride to my grandfather tonight, I would. But I can't. You are a strong and brave woman who loves her family so much, she was willing to sacrifice the rest of her days with them in order to keep them safe."

He pulled the letter out of his inside breast pocket and offered it to her. "Maybe Casey didn't write that in so many words, but the words he did write…of spoons and apple trees and peanut butter pancakes, those words might as well be a sonnet by Shakespeare, because they say the very same things—that you are known and loved and missed. Casey's words…are beautiful, Vivian."

He thought about it for a moment, making a decision. "They are gonna lead us right to him tonight…" he glanced at Shane, who looked surprised – although not displeased – to hear him say such a thing. "…if you just trust us."

Vivian looked back and forth between the two Postal Workers in front of her, turned her gaze to the letter in her hands, then looked back at Oliver and nodded her acceptance. _I will do whatever you need me to, just please, find my grandson. Stop him._

"Ms. McInerney," Oliver straightened. "Can you please fetch Norman, bring him back here, and help Mrs. Lasseter finish packing? Shane nodded her acquiescence. "I will collect Rita and we will return to this window," he gestured to the large one behind the rocking chair. "It looks like it swings open, so you and Norman should be able to climb out of it relatively easily. We will take Mrs. Lasseter's belongings to the Jag. You will have to go through the front door," he addressed Vivian, who nodded. "And meet us at my vehicle. It's—"

"The little blue Jaguar in the drive," Vivian supplied. "I saw you all leaving earlier."

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Ten minutes later, Shane returned to knock on Vivian's door before pushing it open and entering, Norman following behind shyly. "Mrs. Lasseter, this is my associate, Norman Dorman," she stated. "He was otherwise occupied with another resident this morning, so I don't believe you were able to meet him."

"Hello," Norman greeted, waving.

"He will keep watch for us, in case Vivian might be watching your room," Shane explained.

"Do you have a pair of binoculars?" Norman requested.

"Yes," Vivian replied, fishing them out of a drawer. "I use them for bird-watching."

"They're perfect," he insisted, gaze sweeping the grounds through them. "I can see everything."

Shane noticed the filled carpet bag. "Okay," she sighed. "Anything else?"

"No," Vivian replied in a shaky voice. "That's it. I didn't bring much." _I didn't want anything personal that might point even accidentally to Casey's location._

"So, when Oliver gets here," Shane instructed, "…we're only gonna have a minute. You ready for this?" _This is it, Vivian, it's the point of no return. There is no changing your mind once you decide to leave Lendimer Manor, so be sure that this is the course of action you want to take._

"Absolutely," Vivian insisted. _I have been so miserable here, so lonely, and so worried. Plus, I have had Donna breathing down my neck for the last few months, which hasn't been pleasant, either._

"I wish that we could walk out with you," Shane told the older woman. "We can't risk running into Donna." They heard a knock at the window and turn to see Oliver gesturing to the other wall, where the window was located that they would use. "There they are."

Shane and Vivian opened the windows and made room for Norman to exit first. "Thank you," he said, handing the binoculars back to Vivian and accepting the carpet bag from Shane once he had gained the ground.

"Mrs. Lasseter," Oliver insisted. "Are you sure about all this? Once you leave, you cannot return." _Even if we don't find Casey, there is really no way for you to return here. Donna would never let you live through it. Please be sure that you are prepared to cast off your only safety net._

"Yes," she replied firmly, placing Casey's letter in her pocket.

"Alright," Oliver assented softly.

"I don't mind trying to climb," Vivian offered, desperate not to need to exit through the lobby where she might have to explain her activities to Donna.

Shane laid a hand on Vivian's shoulder, shaking her head. "No," Oliver stated, voicing the thought that Shane had been about to state. "We can't risk it. Besides, if you fell, Casey would never forgive us."

The mention of her grandson reminded her of something. _The chimes! I almost forgot them!_ "Oh! Wait a minute," she exclaimed, as Shane stepped up onto the window ledge, preparing to climb down.

"Please," Oliver offered, holding out his hand to help her down. "Allow me, Ms. McInerney."

Grinning wryly, she took his hand, ignoring the jolt of pleasure she felt when his fingers clasped tightly around hers to support her weight as she stepped off the ledge. _The man is definitely swoon-worthy,_ she thought. _What is wrong with his wife that she would rather live alone in Paris than here in Denver with him?_

Once she was securely on the ground, Oliver reluctantly released her hand and turned to accept the windchimes from Vivian, turning to the car only once he saw that the windows had securely been shut by Vivian.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Please, let me know what you thought! Since the Mailbox Grille is a fictional restaurant, it was fun for me to imagine a menu for them! There are only two more chapters (I think…probably) left in this story, then it will be on to "To Whom it May Concern"! Up next: their trip to Fort Collins.**


	5. Fort Collins

**A/N: I still own nothing but my own imagination. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, posted, PM'd, and/or tweeted about this story! This is now Monday evening, with the trip to Fort Collins and the conclusion to the Owen/Casey case.**

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Monday, June 29th, 2014

6:00 PM

Vivian stuck her head out the door the check if the coast was clear. Not seeing Donna anywhere, she began walking towards the front door. She was just beginning to believe she would make it without incident when she heard the voice behind her that made her visibly cringe.

"Vivian?" Donna asked.

Vivian breathed deeply then turned slowly to face her. _I should have known I wouldn't be so lucky as to avoid running into her. That woman has a homing device that must be tuned in to me exclusively._

"I've been looking for you," Donna stated. "I thought you might have had a visitor."

"No, I was just taking a nap," Vivian replied.

"Ah! That's right," Donna said. _Don't think for one moment that I believe that lie. Not when those interfering, obnoxious Postal Workers have been back here._ "Well, we have rehearsal in a few minutes. Were you going somewhere?"

"Yes!" Vivian answered, falsely bright. "I just…thought I'd, uh…go out to the garden and take a walk and get some fresh air." _And protect my grandson from you._

During Vivian's speech, Donna glanced down and noticed the letter from the Postal Workers sticking out of Vivian's pocket. Getting an idea, she adjusted Vivian's scarf and buttoned her coat, stating," Well, you stay warm out there, dear, and don't take too long." She slipped the letter out of the pocket and hid it behind her back. "We need your beautiful voice." _And I need to read this. I knew it was from Casey!_

Vivian forced a chuckle, turned, and walked out the front door. She hurried to the blue Jaguar, where the others were assembled. Oliver had placed her carpet bag in the trunk along with his trench coat and Norman's field kit. He held the door open for her to slide in beside Rita, who was on her phone attempting to call the Marshals' Office to inform them about Donna's whereabouts, and opened the front passenger door for Shane, shutting the door after she was seated. Norman climbed into the back seat after Vivian and Oliver circled the car to angle himself into the driver's seat.

"It is fortunate that Donna was not able to read the letter," Oliver posited as he pulled into traffic.

"Can you imagine what she might have done to Casey if she _had_ read it?" Shane added, shuddering.

"You don't think she would actually hurt a little boy, do you?" Rita asked in disbelief, on hold yet again with the Federal Marshals. _I can't imagine anyone being so evil, so cruel. To a little boy?_

"I'm afraid she would," Oliver replied grimly. "She's gone to a lot of trouble to find him already." _Lord, I pray that we were able to aid Vivian to escape unseen from Donna and that she is not following us. Please, help us find Casey in time to stop him from making that trip tonight!_

"Oh, dear lord," Vivian sighed at the verbalization of her worst fear.

"Rita," Shane asked, turning back to look at her friend. "Any luck getting through to the Marshals' Office?" _She's been on hold an awfully long time. Do they not take this sort of thing seriously._

"I keep trying," Rita explained, "But every time I mention spoons, they just put me on hold."

 _Spoons? No wonder they keep putting you on hold!_ "Rita, don't lead with the spoons," Shane suggested.

"Oh," Rita stated softly.

"You know," Oliver pointed out. "You'd think the Witness Protection people would want to know about something like this."

"Well," Norman offered, "They're probably to busy out there, protecting everybody." _That_ _ **is**_ _their job, right? Otherwise, wouldn't they just be "Witness people"? Wait, that wouldn't be right, either, because then they would be the ones_ _ **needing**_ _protection…_

"Wait," Oliver interjected. "But if you're _in_ Witness Protection, shouldn't you _have_ Witness Protection?" _Isn't there_ _ **someone**_ _watching Casey's house to make sure he is safe? Isn't that the point of the program?_

"Oh, great!" Shane exclaimed. "So all we have to do is find a house three blocks away from Lenox Heights Elementary School with an apple tree, a windchime made of spoons, and a 24-hour team of Federal Marshals surveilling the premises." _No pressure or anything! Piece of cake!_

"Oh!" Rita gasped. "I bet that's why Owen's sneaking out at 9:00."

"Oh, they're changing shifts," Oliver realized. _Of course they are…they can't work 24/7; they need time off, too._

"Or they're out getting dinner," Norman added. "I mean, that's what the Feds were doing when they would stake out the man who lived in our garage."

Vivian's face changed from hopeful, to confused, to despondent the more she listened to their conversation. "Are you telling me," she asked incredulously, "…you people really are from the Post Office?" _Please tell me my grandson's life does not depend on four people who deliver mail for a living?_

"Oh, yes!" Oliver replied emphatically. "Uniquely gifted Postal Workers."

"With a license to deliver," Norman inserted proudly.

"And a deep faith in the power of the written word," Oliver finished. _And – for one of us, anyhow – a deep faith in You, Lord. I'm trusting You to guide us to Casey in time._

"I was hoping that was just a cover story," Vivian replied sadly. _I should never have let you all talk me into this…should never have believed you. What do you all know about protecting people and saving lives? This isn't some television program, this is real life – my grandson's life – and in real life, regular people do not save lives on a daily basis._

"Oh, no!" Norman assured her. "We're the Real Deal."

Vivian chuckled. _At least they take pride in their work._ She put her hand in her pocket to reread Casey's letter, but the letter was not there. "Oh, no!" she gasped. "Casey's letter! It's gone! I had it ri—Donna!" She tapped Rita on the shoulder in frustration. "She insisted on buttoning my coat and wrapping my scarf." _That snake in the grass! Why did I ever put that letter in my pocket? I should have put it in my bag or given it to Shane to hold for me!_

 _Lord,_ Oliver prayed. _If ever we needed one of Your miracles, we need one now. If Donna has that letter and has read it, she knows everything we know about the situation with Casey and has the same clues to help her find him. We have a slight advantage with our head start, Lord, but I do not know how much of one. The timing is crucial here, Lord, but Your timing is always perfect and I am trusting that it will be this time, as well. We just need something to use, perhaps a decoy, to lead Donna away from actively looking for Casey in order to buy us a little more time…_

"Well, that was nice of her!" Norman stated cheerfully.

 _No, Norman, that was not nice of her!_ Shane thought. "Alright, alright," she temporized. "We will not panic. Rita, you remember everything in Casey's letter, right?"

"Everything's up here," Rita tapped her head. "Except that Donna has the original, so she has everything we have."

Oliver thought of something Norman had said earlier in the day. _That's it! Thank you, Lord!_ "Except…" he pointed out. "Except for Norman's cousin Wade, the Real Estate Tycoon. Yeah?"

Norman nodded, pulling out his phone to dial his cousin's number. _Does he even really know who I am? We don't see each other that often._

"Oliver you are _brilliant_!" Shane stated enthusiastically, pulling out her iPad to look at the listings on Wade's real estate page. _Why didn't I think of this? Wade is my real estate agent, after all…I knew that his office was in Fort Collins! Oh, it doesn't matter, Shane! Concentrate! A house three blocks from Lenox Heights Elementary School with an apple tree in the yard…let's see…_

Oliver smiled at the compliment. _Lord, thank you for providing for us yet again. And thank you for bringing Ms. McInerney to the DLO last week. She believes it was a transfer that was simply lost in translation, a misunderstanding gone wrong, but I know it was You. She truly is a Divine Delivery and she has been an invaluable asset this past week._

"Wade," Norman greeted after a few moments. "It's Norman. Dorman? We're cousins. Our…our mothers are sisters. We see each other once a ye—yep, that's me! Hey, remember that $38 you borrowed from me last Christmas? Yeah, but we could call it even if you do me a little favor."

"Found one!" Shane announced, handing the iPad to Norman.

"There's a house on…Cherry Blossom Lane in Fort Collins you are selling? Yeah, I need to borrow that house for just about an hour or so. It's a long story. We're trying to save a little boy. Me and my colleagues. The Post Office…are you gonna help us or not? Oh…oh, I see. I think our tech lady has a smartphone."

Shane rolled her eyes at Oliver, both shaking with laughter, as she nodded.

"Yep, she says she does. How should I know what kind? Does it matter?"

"It's an iPhone 5S, Norman," Shane informed him.

Norman relayed the information to his cousin. "He says you need to have at least iOS 6, whatever that is, and to download some application…Super Eekie? Oh, SUPRA eKey…then put in a code that he is going to text me. The phone needs to have its Bluetooth signal on at the house, and the application will open the lock on the door." He thanked his cousin and hung up. "I don't understand a word of what I just said."

"That makes two of us, Norman," Oliver stated.

"It's OK. I understood," Shane replied, busily tapping on her phone. "You can just let me off at the house."

"What?" Oliver demanded, appalled. "Why?"

"So that I can get in…how are we going to direct Donna to this house?" she asked.

Norman's phone chimed with a new text message and he wordlessly handed the phone to Shane. She opened the message, typed in the 10-digit code to the space provided in the app, and was rewarded with the message that the eKey had been updated.

" _You_ are not facing a drug trafficker and probable murderer alone, Ms. McInerney." Oliver shuddered at the thought. "I will take that risk myself. You can take my car and look for Casey."

"And how are you planning on getting into the house?" she asked. "The key is on my phone."

"You can instruct me in its use, can't you?" He turned onto the exit for Fort Collins and navigated the streets to Lenox Heights Elementary School.

"Of course," she admitted, "…but it would be a lot easier – and faster – for me just to—"

He pulled to a stop in front of the school and turned sharply to face her. "Ms. McInerney, I can't have you risking your life, placing yourself in harm's way, when I am here and more than able to—" He saw she was about to open her mouth to object, so changed tactics. "Please, Shane," he pleaded, his voice softer and so low only she could hear. "I can't let anything happen to you." _I can't say no to you, but I can't let you place yourself in harm's way. I couldn't handle it if you…I can't even think it!_

The look he gave her as he pled with her, coupled with his use of her first name – usually reserved only for moments of especial import to him – caused her to rethink her argument. "OK, Oliver," she agreed reluctantly. "You win this one." She handed him her phone.

He accepted it, his fingers brushing hers as they clasped around the device. "Thank you," he whispered.

She nodded slightly. "The house is left down this street," she pointed, "…then turn right on the first street. Two blocks down, it'll have an apple tree in the front, and probably a sign that says Wade Dorman."

Oliver nodded, then his brain registered what she had just said. "How do you know his last name is Dorman?" he asked. "Their mothers are sisters, so—"

"Oh!" she interrupted him. "We still need a way to send Donna there!"

"Oh, I can handle that," Norman answered. "My field kit, remember? I'll set up a barricade here, make up some story about a gas or water leak, and give her directions to the house."

"But won't she recognize you?" Oliver inquired. Norman _had_ been at the retirement home both times that day, after all.

"Nope!" Norman responded enthusiastically. "She never saw me!"

"I never saw him, either, until Shane brought him to my room just before we left," Vivian pointed out.

Norman nodded. "I was looking at stamps with Arlene," he explained.

"I will call you with Norman's phone…here, let me program it in for you." She took her iPhone back from Oliver, opened up a New Contact page, looked up Norman's number in his device, punched it in under his name, and hit Save. "There," she handed the phone back to him. "I will call you with Norman's phone in a few minutes and talk you through how to open the front door. When the call comes through, there will be a green button and a red button at the bottom of the screen."

She called her phone to show him. Sure enough, Norman's name popped up as the phone chimed and buzzed in his hand. "Press and hold the green button, then slide your finger to the right across the screen," she instructed. He did as he was told and put the phone to his ear. "Now we are connected on a call," Shane said into the mouthpiece of Norman's phone, smiling at him. "Nice work, Mr. O'Toole."

She disconnected the call and she, Oliver, Rita and Norman exited the vehicle, Oliver slipping her phone into his pocket. "Alright, does everybody know what to do?" Oliver asked.

"Rita and I will establish a three-block radius and start looking," Shane answered, rounding the front of the car to get into the driver's seat.

"Great. Norman?" _Thank you, Lord, that she accepted my request so easily. I can deny her nothing but would much rather it be me risking my life than her. I know where I am headed if I die but she is not a believer yet. Whatever I can do to bring her closer to You, I will. I want her to have the assurance of Heaven when she dies…I want that for Norman and Rita, too._

He ignored the Voice inside telling him that he wouldn't have been _so_ desperate to insist he take Norman or Rita's place. That he would have offered to go instead of the others, but that the fact that it was _Shane_ putting her life in danger made him so wild with worry that he nearly begged her to switch places with him.

"Check," Norman stated. "Aw! I gotta get my field kit." He opened the trunk and pulled out his leather suitcase. Oliver followed him to the trunk to retrieve his coat.

"Yes!" Rita exclaimed into the phone, heading from the rear seat on the driver's side to the front passenger seat. "Is this the Police Tip Line? I have some urgent information!"

"Bet you're glad I brought this now, huh?" Norman asked Oliver, indicating the suitcase.

"You are a visionary, Norman," Oliver praised him, removing his trench coat from the trunk. "Now, you're sure she never saw you?"

"I'm positive," Norman replied. _I hardly saw her, except that glimpse I had when you all walked over to her, and I went to look at Arlene's stamps._

"Then Godspeed, my friend," Oliver held out his hand, then began walking towards the house once Norman had shaken it. _This is it, Lord. "All things work together for good". This is part of that "all things"; let it work together for good. Guide Shane to Casey. Keep Your cloak of protection on Norman and give me wisdom and power as I deal with the devil, Lord._

"Yes," Rita sighed in exasperation. "I will wait on hold. Again!"

"Hurry up! We're running out of time!" Shane whispered loudly to Rita, then thought of something. "Wait!" she directed at Oliver.

"Hmm?" Oliver turned around and came back to her. _What did we forget?_

She grabbed the windchime from Vivian and handed it to Oliver, holding it back at the last second. "Be careful," she pleaded in a small voice. _I know you are doing this because you don't want anything to happen to me, but I don't want to see anything happen to you, either. Please watch out for yourself._

"Don't forget to call," he acknowledged tenderly. _Nothing will happen to me, Shane. I have a better Protector than I could hope for._

"Got it," she answered, turning the ignition.

"And, uh, remember," he reminded her, "…the accelerator…"

"Oliver," she sighed. _You worry too much. About me, about Norman and Rita, about your car._

"…is a little sensitive," he finished.

"Go," she told him. She pressed the accelerator and the tires squealed before the car shot forward. Panicked, she hit the brake and the car lurched to a stop. _Yeah, definitely sensitive,_ she admitted to herself. Seeing Oliver's cringe in her side-view mirror, she made a mental note to apologize later.

Oliver walked down the street to the left and turned right on the first side street. After a block and a half, he heard the phone chime in his pocket. He pulled it out, saw Norman's name, and swiped the green button to the right as Shane had instructed him. "Hello, Ms. McInerney," he greeted.

"Oliver, have you found the house yet?" she asked.

"Not yet, oh wait…I see it up here on the right." He hung the windchime up carefully on the apple tree, then walked up the front steps. "Now, what do I do?" he asked.

"First," she replied. "You need to put me on speaker phone. Pull the phone away from your ear, and you will see the display light up with six icons. The one on the top right that looks like a megaphone with some air waves radiating off of it is the one you want to press."

He did as he was told, and jumped when he heard Shane's voice come out of the device. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Good. Now, press the home button – the little circle at the bottom of the phone – to get to the applications screen. Find the Settings icon…it looks like a cog in a machine…and tap it."

"Okay, got it. Now what?" he asked.

"Tap on 'Bluetooth' and slide the toggle button to the right so it is turned on."

"Done," he replied a moment later.

"Good, it will search for a compatible device for a moment, then will provide you with whatever is Bluetooth ready in the area."

"It says 'SUPRA eKey'," he told her.

"Press it," she ordered.

A few seconds later, he said, "OK, I'm connected but the door is still locked. Now what?"

"You need to get into the app to unlock the door," she laughed. "Press the Home button again, then find the icon that says 'eKey'. Got it?"

"Found it," he affirmed, pressing it.

"Good, now there should be an option to unlock the door," she instructed.

There was a moment of silence, followed by a thud and a muffled mild expletive. "Oliver?" she asked, suddenly worried. "Are you there? What happened?"

"I apologize for my profanity – please remind me tomorrow to place a dollar in the "Swear Jar" at the DLO – and for worrying you, Ms. McInerney; the phone slipped a little. Just a moment," he requested. "Aha! It worked! I'm in!"

She grinned. "Congratulations, Mr. O'Toole, you now know how to operate a cell phone, pair a Bluetooth device, and work an app," she giggled. "You have graduated into the Technological Age."

"Not likely," he muttered. "As soon as this is over, you are reclaiming this ridiculous device."

She laughed outright, then sobered. "Be careful, Oliver," she said seriously.

"You too," he replied softly before she disconnected the call. He placed the phone back in his pocket and waited out of sight of the window for Donna to arrive.

He didn't have long to wait. Within ten minutes, he saw Donna pull up outside the house. A few moments later, he heard her knock and walked to the front door. _Lord, provide protection, please._ He saw through the window that she knew she had been tricked and had dropped the gift basket hiding her gun in her haste to chase after the boy – presumably Casey – who had just passed on a bicycle. _She dropped her gun! She's unarmed! Thank you, Lord!_ He opened the door as she turned to retrieve her gun from where she had dropped it.

"Hello, Sylvia," he greeted her smoothly. "Now, I'm just looking at this thinking…well, the gun is slightly closer to you. On the other hand, you're in heels. I wouldn't risk it if I were you. Especially since…well…" he gestured to the flashing lights. "Since we're expecting company." _Nice work, Rita, and most opportune._

She started running, but an officer was quicker on the draw than she had anticipated. "Stop!" he ordered, gun drawn. "Put your hands over your head."

Oliver ran down the front steps and grabbed an orange from the dropped gift basket, tossing it in the air in triumph. _Another job well done, another letter delivered, another case solved. Not bad for a day at the Post Office._

"Sylvia Lococo," the officer stated after having placed his cuffs on her. "You are under arrest for trafficking in illegal substances, interfering with a federal investigation, obstruction of justice—"

"And stealing a letter to Gramma," Oliver supplied. "Mail felony, it's very serious."

Oliver saw Shane pull up in his car and Vivian get out of the back seat. "Casey!" Vivian shouted.

Casey looked up in amazement. "Gramma?"

"That's me!" she cried, hugging him.

Shane exited the car and rounded the front and heaved a mental sigh of relief when she saw that Oliver stood before her, unharmed. The rest of the interplay between Casey and Vivian was lost on Oliver and Shane as they gazed at one another. _Thank God, he's OK,_ Shane thought.

He smiled tenderly at her, walking toward her when he saw head closer to him. " _'All's well that ends well,'_ " he quoted. "Hmm?"

"Oh, no," she laughed ruefully. "No. You do _not_ get to quote Shakespeare tonight. Shakespeare never had to thwart a drug cartel!" _He also never had to worry about someone he cared about getting harmed by said cartel!_ She and Rita turned to stand next to him as Norman hurried to join them.

"' _Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon 'em,'_ " he quipped jovially. _My grandfather always said, "When an O'Toole doesn't know what to say, let Shakespeare speak for him!" I certainly don't know what to say right now, Ms. McInerney, to express my relief at the outcome of this case._

"You're impossible," she grinned, running her hands through the windchime when he held it up.

After they had given their statements to the police, returned Casey to his parents, given their statements to the US Marshals at the house, and called Theresa to come and clean up the mess, Vivian invited them all to stay for some birthday peanut butter and banana pancakes. They accepted, glad to have been of such service to the Lasseter family.

Within an hour and a half, Theresa arrived. She signed the Mail Fraud Complaint Form against Sylvia Lococo for stealing the letter, then looked up when Shane approached.

"Theresa, I wanted to ask you a question…" the blonde hedged, "…but I don't want you to put too much stock into it."

"Fire away, honey!" the older woman replied enthusiastically.

"Well, you seem to have known Oliver's grandfather pretty well," Shane began.

"I wouldn't say _well_ ," Theresa clarified. "But he and I did know one another in my early years in the Service."

"Do you know how he received his Dark-of-Night Award?" Shane asked, trying to formulate in her head the reason why she wanted to know.

"Not only do I know," Theresa stated proudly. "I was _there_. It was Christmas Eve, my first year in the Service…"

"Oh, I don't want to _know_ how he got his award," Shane interrupted. At Theresa's look, she expounded. "I just…Oliver was pretty young when his grandfather died. I think Rita said he was seven or eight. But he idolized him, and to this day he puts value in the things his grandfather valued: the Bible, Shakespeare, words, books, honor, loyalty, the USPS…you get the picture. He even wears his grandfather's pocket watch and drinks out of his cup. I just think he would appreciate knowing what his grandfather did to receive the award, and to hear any story you have about the man he still emulates."

"I'd be happy to tell him," Theresa acknowledged. "If you tell me one thing: what is going on between you two?"

Shane colored. "Nothing like that. He has been very kind to me…all of them have, actually. And I think we have good…chemistry. But he's married so there is nothing more between us than a few shared meals. There's not much I can offer him to repay his welcoming me so…unreservedly. But at least I can give him a few more stories of his grandfather."

"Darling, that is so beautiful!" Theresa insisted. "Of course, I'll talk to him about it."

"First batch of pancakes are done!" Vivian announced from the kitchen.

"These are so good," Rita moaned a few minutes later, taking a bite of pancake.

"I told you!" Casey exclaimed. _Gramma makes the best pancakes_ _ **ever**_ _! And the best spoons. And the best_ _ **everything**_ _!_

"Secret's in the banana," Vivian explained happily, slicing more bananas for another batch of pancakes.

"Definitely worth a trip to Fort Collins, wouldn't you say?" Oliver agreed, taking his plate to sit at the dining room table.

"Well, it will be a short one," Vivian stated. _At least I am back with my family. No matter what happens, it will be better because we are together._

"Where're you all gonna go now?" Norman asked.

"That's a secret, Norman," Shane reminded him.

"Oh!" he whispered. "Right. Shh…"

As they chatted in the kitchen, Shane was only half-listening as her attention kept getting pulled to the dining room, where Oliver and Theresa were chatting. She couldn't hear what they were talking about, but she hoped it had to do with his grandfather, for his sake.

"Norman!" Shane heard Rita exclaim. "You've already had six peanut butter and banana pancakes."

"Besides," Shane pointed out, removing the apple from Norman's hand and replacing it in the basket. "That belongs to someone at Lendimer Manor." _Plus, it's been on the ground. And it's been handled by Donna—Sylvia. Who_ _ **knows**_ _where her hands have been!_

"Oh, go ahead, Norman!" Vivian scoffed. "It was supposed to be a gift from the cast to Donna for directing our show! Oh! The show…well, I can't do it now. What am I gonna do?"

Shane, Oliver, Norman, and Rita all looked at Theresa, who colored slightly and shrugged. "I suppose…the show must go on," she grinned. "Mustn't it?"

Oliver felt a buzzing in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out Shane's phone. Automatically, he glanced at the display, feeling a jolt of surprise when he saw that it read, "Wade Dorman".

"Ms. McInerney," he informed her as he approached. "Norman's cousin appears to be calling you."

"My cousin?" Norman inquired, a confused look on his face. "How do you know my cousin?"

Shane sighed. "I didn't know he was your cousin until today, Norman. He's my real estate agent." She took the phone from Oliver and dialed the number.

"Wade, it's Shane," she began. "I'm sorry I didn't answer. My phone was in my boss' pocket and I didn't get to it in time. What's going on? Really? OK…but I'm not in Denver at the moment. No. I'm actually in Fort Collins. I didn't drive myself; I came with friends. I suppose I can walk to your office…it might take me about twenty minutes to get there, though."

Oliver regarded her thoughtfully. "Ms. McInerney," he leveled at her. "If you think, after what we have endured tonight, that I would allow you to walk _anywhere_ in Fort Collins alone, at night, you are sorely mistaken. Whatever the reason, I will drive you wherever you need to go."

"Just a second, Wade," Shane said into the phone, then lowered her voice to a whisper to speak to Oliver. "But you have Norman and Rita to think about. The Lasseter family is leaving in another hour or so."

"I'll take Norman and Rita home," Theresa offered. "You two go on."

Shane told Wade she would be seeing him within a few minutes then disconnected the call.

"Are you sure, Ms. Capodiamonte?" Oliver queried. "We really don't mind bringing them with us. Do we, Ms. McInerney?"

"Of course not," Shane answered emphatically. "What I'm doing isn't a secret…Wade has a closing date for me, and a few last-minute forms for me to sign, and a list of repairs from the home inspector that need to be completed before I move in, and an estimated move-in date. Shouldn't take more than an hour, tops."

"I'm actually kind of tired," Rita stated. "It's been a long, eventful day."

"Why don't I just take them, huh?" Theresa offered. "Go ahead and sort things out for your house, Shane."

"Thank you for everything you've done," Vivian said, giving Shane and Oliver hugs.

"It was our pleasure," Oliver replied.

Shane nodded her agreement. "Absolutely," she agreed. "We're just glad everything worked out so well."

They said their goodbyes, wished the Lasseter family well, and left the house. Within five minutes, they were pulling up in front of Wade's real estate office. They entered and Wade came out to greet them.

"Shane," he said warmly, shaking her hand. "Thank you so much for coming on such short notice."

"Oh, it was no problem, Wade," she replied, turning to Oliver. "This is my boss, Oliver O'Toole. It's just lucky—" she cut off as she saw Oliver about to speak. "Sorry, I forgot that _'Luck is the religion of the lazy'._ It's just _providential_ that we happened to be in Fort Collins for work."

"You were?" he asked sharply.

"Yes," she grinned, "…and yes, we work with Norman. Thank you for allowing us the use of the house, by the way, and I have removed the app from my phone."

He sighed in relief. "So you're Norman's tech lady, then? Thank you. Happy ending, I hope?"

 _ **Norman's**_ _tech lady?_ Oliver thought. _Since when is she_ _ **Norman's**_ _? She's_ _ **our**_ _tech lady…_ "Very happy," he supplied, filling in as much of the story as he could without providing details that would compromise the Lasseter's safety.

Moving to Wade's desk, Shane signed the forms, collected her paperwork, made notes of all the dates Wade gave her, and made a list of all the repairmen she needed to call.

"So," Wade concluded briskly. "If everything works out correctly, you will have keys in hand no later than August 1. Congratulations again, Shane." He saw them to the door and locked up behind them.

"What did he mean, _'If everything works out correctly'_? I've already bought the house, haven't I?" Shane asked, nodding her thanks to Oliver for holding open her door as she slid into the passenger seat.

"Well, yes," Oliver explained. "But your list of repairs – while not extensive – still could unravel more issues with the house that could potentially push back your move-in date. Unless you choose to live in a construction zone for the foreseeable future, which I strongly recommend, from personal experience, you do not do."

 _Personal experience?_ Shane thought. _So you live in a house, then…why does that not surprise me? Everything about you screams reliance, dependability, security, permanence, and stability…all the things that an apartment or condo is not._

As Oliver headed south on Interstate 25, Shane pondered the day's events. They had met a new supervisor, received a letter to Gramma, _delivered_ a letter to Gramma, visited a retirement home _twice_ , eaten a delicious lunch at a newly-renovated bar-turned-restaurant, unraveled the mystery behind Vivian's secretive behavior, interpreted Donna's interest in Vivian was something more sinister than an overly-zealous caregiver, thwarted a drug cartel, saved an 11-year-old boy's life, reunited a family, and finalized the sale of her house. Not bad for a day's work.

Oliver glanced at her. "Penny for your thoughts," he offered.

She smiled sideways, filling him in on her thoughts.

"It has been quite an eventful day, hasn't it?" he acknowledged. "But a good one, nonetheless."

"Mmmm," she agreed, nodding. "I love us!"

He was about to say something when her phone rang. _That device is always ringing at the most inopportune times!_

"Hey, Rita!" she answered brightly. "She did? Already? Oh, OK…we just left Fort Collins a few minutes ago, but you guys go on. Wait, she said what? Really? OK, I'll let Oliver know. Hey, why don't you and I have a girl's day tomorrow? We'll go to breakfast, do some shopping, have lunch, maybe go to the salon…great! I'll pick you up around eight? Bye!"

"Are you and Rita taking tomorrow off work?" Oliver asked once she had hung up the phone.

"We all are," Shane said. "Rita told me that Theresa gave the four of us tomorrow off as a reward for such hard work today. I mean, we clocked 13 hours from the time we arrived at work this morning to the time we left the Lasseter house an hour ago, and we were on the go for the majority of that time."

"We are salaried government servants, Ms. McInerney," he reminded her. "We do not 'clock' our hours. _And_ we are on mandatory overtime until further notice."

"You know what I meant," she rolled her eyes at him.

"Yes," he laughed. "I do. In that case, do you mind if Norman and I join you and Rita for breakfast? We can try the Mailbox Grille again. I promise, we will not intrude on the remainder of your 'Girl's Day'."

"I love that, but you are welcome to intrude on dinner with us. I had planned on asking you two anyhow," she replied, then her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

"Are you hungry?" Oliver asked in surprise.

"Don't laugh at me…I only got a bite of my pancake before Wade called. I haven't really eaten since lunch." she complained.

"As a matter of fact," he admitted. "I didn't get a chance to eat at the Lasseter house, either, which is too bad since I had been looking forward to those pancakes."

"Vivian slipped me the recipe when she hugged me goodbye," Shane replied. "I'll make them for you sometime."

He smiled wryly. "Well," he offered. "Since neither of us have eaten, shall we dine?"

"Is there anything open this late?" she asked. "It's almost 11."

"I know a place," he said, turning off the interstate and navigating the streets of North Denver. A few minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of what looked like a Mexican restaurant called The Matador.

"Oliver O'Toole eats Mexican food?" she queried as he opened the car door for her and escorted her into the restaurant. "What other secrets are you hiding?"

"The word 'secret' derives from the Latin word _secretus_ , meaning 'separate' or 'set apart', which is taken from the verb _secernere_ – 'to sift apart'. Its very definition is to hide the truth from others," he informed her. "Supposing I had a secret from you, there would be a very good reason for me to keep it so until I believed it to be to our mutual benefit that I share it with you."

"Point taken," she admitted. "I won't pry into your personal life anymore."

"You may ask me any question you wish," he told her, pulling out a chair for her at a small table in the bar, "just promise me that if I choose not to divulge the answer to you in that moment, you will respect my wishes and my privacy, and I will promise you the same."

She nodded. "OK, Oliver. I promise."

The waitress came up to hand them some menus. Oliver laid a hand on top of them to prevent Shane from taking one. "Do you trust me?" he asked quietly.

"Of course, I do," she replied seriously. "What kind of question is that?"

He turned to the waitress. "We will each take a glass of the Red Sangria, and we will share the Crispy Brussels Sprouts, the Seared Mushroom Skillet, and the Spicy Mexican Shrimp with the crema sauce. Oh, and an order of the Chocolate Decadence for dessert." Smirking at Shane, he handed the menus back to the waitress.

"How did you know I like chocolate?" she demanded.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Serious Chocolate. It's in your personnel file."

"It is not." She stared him down until he straightened.

"You're right, it's not in your file. Rita told me," he smirked. "She said you had purchased a chocolate cake to serve for dessert last night."

Looking up, she sighed, unable to hide the amusement in her face. "You're impossible."

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it** _ **finally**_ **is! This one took a long time to write, because there was a lot I wanted to include in it, but I am so happy with how it turned out! Also, I had originally intended to have the next chapter be the last one, but I am going to extend this story for just slightly to cover the rest of the week. Please, let me know what you thought! Up next: Shane and Rita's day out!**


	6. A Day Off

**A/N: I still own nothing but my own imagination. But I am OK with that. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, posted, PM'd, and/or tweeted about this story! This is now Tuesday, with breakfast at the Mailbox Grille, Shane and Rita's girls' day out, and dinner. Please read and review!**

Tuesday, June 30, 2014

6:30 AM

Shane sat at the vanity in her bedroom and brushed her hair, twisting it up into a clip for the day. She had made appointments for herself and Rita in the Spa when Oliver had dropped her off the night before. Thinking of Oliver reminded her of their impromptu late dinner the night before. She had trusted him to order without even glancing at the menu, and he had – as usual – not disappointed. Everything had been delicious, although the mushrooms had probably been her favorite item.

She applied her concealer, foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, blush, and lipstick, added a spritz of perfume, and moved to the closet to select her outfit for the day. By seven-thirty she had completed her toilette, grabbed her purse and a jacket, and left the room. She retrieved her car from the valet and left to pick up Rita.

She and Rita entered the Mailbox Grille at 7:55 and, seeing neither Norman nor Oliver, slid into the booth in the back corner they had been in at lunch the previous day.

"Can I get you ladies anything to drink?" Angie asked, approaching the table.

"Can I have a sugar free vanilla latte, please?" Rita asked.

"What size?" Angie inquired.

"Oh, small," Rita insisted. "And he," she pointed to the empty spot beside her, "…will have the same."

"I'll have the same, only a medium, with an extra shot, and nonfat milk," Shane added. "And he," she pointed to the empty spot to her left, "…will have a large Americano, no room."

Angie nodded, heading back to the bar just as Oliver and Norman walked through the door. The gentlemen slid into the booth on either side of the ladies and picked up their menus.

"Ms. McInerney," Oliver laid his menu down. "It is your turn."

"Oh, I've already decided," she informed him. "Do you trust me?" she grinned.

He blushed, recalling his words to her the previous night. Leaning over slightly, he gazed at her momentarily before stating, "Of course, I trust you. What kind of question is that?"

Just then, Angie approached with their beverages. "Two small sugar free vanilla lattes," she said, placing them in front of Norman and Rita. "One medium skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot," she placed it in front of Shane. "And one large Americano with no room," placed in front of Oliver.

"Thank you," Oliver said to Shane, nodding at the coffee.

Shane nodded in acknowledgement.

"I already have your order," Angie said, looking at Oliver and Shane. "Are you two ready to order?" She turned to Norman and Rita.

"You already ordered?" Rita asked Shane in confusion. "When?"

"When I was on my way to pick you up," Shane replied. "I called and placed our order to give them time to prepare it."

Rita grinned and ordered a Denver scramble with hash browns. Norman ordered a pastrami hash with two over-easy eggs on top, and toast.

"So, ladies, what is your plan for today?" Oliver asked once Angie had taken their orders back to the kitchen.

"Well, we are headed to the mall after breakfast," Shane began. "For a little – retail therapy – then I need to go to the Post Office to pick up some boxes my friend Becky sent me from my apartment in DC and I need to take them to my storage facility to be held until I move, then we have lunch, followed by an appointment at the spa in my hotel, and then a trip to Williams-Sonoma to purchase some things for my new kitchen that then will need to be added to my storage facility, then dinner with the two of you."

"So you're going to your storage facility twice?" Norman asked, squinting his eyes in concentration. "That doesn't make much sense."

"Indeed it does not," Oliver agreed. "Why don't you pick up the items you need for your kitchen in the morning after your trip to the mall, then meet Norman and me at the Post Office before it closes so we may assist you with your boxes, then we can help you load them into your storage facility and all drive to dinner together?"

"I suppose that would work," Shane acknowledged, straightening when she saw Angie approaching with their breakfasts.

"One pastrami hash with two over-easy eggs, one Denver scramble, and one Lemon Blintz special with extra lemon curd." She placed the plate between Shane and Oliver, with three blintzes filled with sweet cheese and lemon zest and drizzled with a warm lemon curd alongside hash browns, two sausage links, scrambled eggs, and two scones. An extra jar of lemon curd was also placed on the table before Angie walked away.

"Ms. McInerney, this looks fantastic," Oliver announced delightedly. "But I don't understand what here required advance notice for them to prepare?"

"Well," Shane admitted, looking him in the eye. "They really only serve _cheese_ blintzes here, not lemon ones. Angie said to let her know if you like the lemon curd and they will consider putting lemon blintzes on the rotating specials menu."

Oliver looked at Rita. _How did she know I like lemon curd?_ He asked silently. Rita shrugged.

"I have my ways, Mr. O'Toole," she whispered. "And they do not include pestering Rita for information on what your likes are."

"You amaze me," he replied earnestly, slicing off a piece of the blintz and dipping it into the curd before placing the whole bite into his mouth.

"You've said that before," she laughed, looking around. "Hey, she forgot an extra plate."

Oliver motioned to Angie to bring another plate, then turned back to Shane. "I apologize; I hadn't even noticed the lack of a second plate before I began eating."

"Apology accepted, Oliver," Shane shook her head. "I'm glad you're enjoying it." She took the plate offered by Angie, pulled one of the blintzes onto it, followed by some of the eggs, one of the sausages, and one of the scones. Oliver split the remaining blintz and placed one of the halves on her plate next to her other one.

After breakfast, Oliver and Shane stood up, Shane moving to the register to pay the bill. "Thank you," Oliver said. "That was kind. And delicious."

"My pleasure," she grinned. "We will see you at the Post Office at 4:30?" she asked as Rita and Norman walked up.

"Yes," he nodded. "Enjoy your 'Girl's Day', ladies."

"Bye Oliver, Bye Norman," Rita said brightly, following Shane out to her car.

"Well, Norman," Oliver said briskly. "Since we are on our own for the next several hours, what do you say we take a quick trip up to Fort Collins?"

"Oh, but the Lasseters left last night," Norman protested.

"I was not thinking of the Lasseters, Norman," Oliver admitted. "I want to speak with your cousin regarding Ms. McInerney's home." He ushered Norman out to his car and got into the driver's seat. Norman hesitated only a moment before climbing into the passenger side.

"What are you planning?" he asked his friend.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

10:30 AM

"Shane, that dress looks _amazing_ on you!" Rita gushed.

Shane agreed. The cobalt blue brightened her eyes and the fit flattered her figure. "OK," she suggested. "Now we need to find one for you."

"Oh, I don't need a new dress!" Rita insisted as Shane held up an adorable mint green cocktail dress with a pleated skirt.

"Nonsense," Shane insisted. "I'll even buy it for you. Call it a birthday present." She placed the dress in the dressing room and indicated to Rita that she should try it on.

"It's not my birthday," Rita shrugged, entering the dressing room.

"Call it an _early_ birthday present, then," Shane laughed, looking through the necklaces until she found one she liked: a coral bubble necklace. Coral flowered heels and a matching belt completed the ensemble. She passed the accessories over the door to Rita, who accepted them and put them on, too.

Once Rita was dressed, she looked at herself in the mirror in her dressing room and gasped softly. She would never have considered putting mint and coral together, but they worked. She would never have thought, either, that mint would be a good color for her, but it was. She would need to go shopping with Shane more often. She exited the room and flushed shyly when she saw Shane's wide smile.

"Rita!" her friend exclaimed delightedly. "You look so great! I knew that dress would look good on you!"

"How did you know that?" Rita asked. She had never thought to dress with the idea in mind that the colors she wore could complement or detract from her overall appearance; she just always wore what she liked.

"Your neutral skin tone," Shane replied. "It works with both bright and soft colors, as well as earth tones and neutrals. I have a cool skin tone, so jewel tones look better on me."

"Where did you learn all that?" Rita inquired, turning so Shane could collect the tags off the dress she was wearing.

"College. I double-majored and double-minored, and one of my majors was Art History. One of the classes I took for that major was The Art of Fashion, where we learned all about color, texture, rigidity, fluidity, hiding problem areas, and complementary ensembles. I also learned how to sew in that class and to alter existing garments to my specifications. Not the most, um, _collegiate_ class choice in the world, I know, but I learned a lot nonetheless." She handed the tags from both outfits to the sales clerk, who rang the items up, placed their previously-owned items and their shoe boxes into a bag, and handed it back to Shane.

"Well, I'm glad you learned it," Rita insisted. "Why did you double-major and double-minor? That seems like an awful lot of work."

"It was," Shane sighed, heading back to the car and unlocking it. "And my answer is perhaps less – noble – than you might think. You know about my history with my father?"

"Only bits and pieces," Rita answered. "I know that you had a falling out with him because he was gone for some time, and that you said something you now regret because it is too late to make it right. But I don't know the particulars and you don't have to tell me if it's too personal."

"Hmm…" Shane mused thoughtfully. "I felt sure that Oliver would have told you and Norman."

"Why would he do that?" Rita inquired. "Oliver is a gentleman; he would never tell anyone anything you said to him in confidence."

Shane sighed again. "It wasn't said in confidence, exactly, although I can see where he might think it was." She outlined how her dad had left the Sunday before Christmas when she was ten, and how he had always promised to be there for her birthday but instead had always only sent a card and some cash.

"Oh, Shane!" Rita cried. "Oh, I am so sorry!"

"Don't be," Shane said, blinking away the tears. "Anyway, I had chosen my major and minor, but something that…somebody…said inferred that if I were to change my major to align more with my father's interests, then he would care about me more and would come see me more often. So, I went to the registrar's office at the school and tried to change my major to Art History and my minor to Philosophy because my dad had been a curator at an art museum – and was always attending philosophical lectures."

"But that's still only one major and minor," Rita reminded her as Shane pulled into the parking lot of Williams-Sonoma.

"Well," Shane explained. "When it came time to register for classes, I found out that the person in the registrar's office hadn't exactly _switched_ my major and minor; they were _added_ , with no way to drop the others. So…I spent four years studying day and night to maintain the GPA I had had in high school that had allowed me to attend that school in the first place."

"Oh, what school _was_ it?" Rita asked.

"Columbia," Shane replied succinctly, eyeing an induction cook top. On a whim, she placed it into her cart along with the accompanying pot and pan and a rotisserie oven. Perhaps she could do some cooking in her hotel room, after all.

"You double-majored _and_ double-minored at Columbia University?" Rita asked incredulously. "And you graduated?"

"With honors," Shane replied fondly. "Of course, I didn't have much of a social life at school, but that didn't bother me. My dad leaving us – leaving me, I thought – made me desperate, I guess, to prove that I was worth something to someone, even if it was only an honors degree from Columbia."

"You're worth something to me," Rita said softly, embracing her friend. "And to Oliver and Norman. We all care so much for you! I know it's not the same, but—"

"It's better," Shane assured her. "Your biological family is stuck with you regardless of their feelings about you. A surrogate family – friends like you and Oliver and Norman – spends time with you because they _choose_ to put value in your society. And that is worth more to me than all the Ivy League degrees in existence."

She and Rita turned their attention to completing their shopping trip. At the end of an hour and a half, they had just about everything Shane thought she might need for her new kitchen: dishes, table linens, cutlery, cookware, bakeware, glassware, stemware, utensils, and serveware, as well as a few small appliances. They packed all the bags and boxes that were to go to the storage unit in her trunk, and the few items that were to go to her hotel room – including the rotisserie oven, induction cook top, a counter-top oven, and a few of the dishes and serveware to use the next time they spent a night in in her hotel suite – were placed in the back seat.

They drove to the hotel, placed those items into her suite, then headed down to Ellyngton's on the first floor, where they each ordered a small Heirloom Greens salad and water. After lunch – which Shane charged to her room – they crossed the lobby to the Spa entrance for their salon appointments. They had their hair washed and styled and enjoyed mani/pedi's before changing from the salon robes back into their newly-purchased outfits and heading back out to the car.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

4:30 PM

Oliver and Norman had arrived at the Post Office a few minutes prior and, not seeing either Shane or Rita anywhere, stood in line to wait. At 4:30 exactly, Rita entered the building, followed directly by Shane. And Oliver forgot to breathe. The cut and color of her dress, in combination with her new hairstyle, rendered him momentarily speechless.

Rita, too, he noticed, was sporting a new dress. From the style and quality, he assumed it had been purchased for her by Ms. McInerney, and that pleased him immensely. Rita had few true friends, and fewer still who understood her real worth. That Ms. McInerney would so immediately see the younger woman's true value spoke volumes about her character, her loyalty, and her commitment to this team.

"Hi," Shane broke through his thoughts when she approached. "Have you boys been waiting long?"

"No, only a few minutes," Norman answered when he saw that Oliver was not speaking.

"Next?" the clerk asked. Shane and Oliver approached the counter, Shane handing over the slip that had been delivered to the hotel clerk two days prior. Within ten minutes, Shane, Oliver, Norman, and Rita were surrounded by thirty boxes, in addition to a letter.

They loaded the boxes into the trunks and back seats of both cars. "Ms. McInerney," Oliver said once they had completed that task. "Norman and I will follow you and Rita to your storage facility. I assume that we will be able to drive directly up to the doors to unload our vehicles?"

"Unfortunately not," Shane shook her head, getting an idea in her head. "It's an indoor facility." She had noticed that Norman kept staring at Rita in her new outfit and, wanting to further their relationship along, suggested, "but, you know…there, um, was something that I wanted to speak to you about in, uh, private. Rita," she turned her attention to the brunette, pulling out the key to her rental car. "Can you and Norman take my car while Oliver and I take his?"

Rita, assuming Shane wanted some time alone with Oliver to give him directions on which side of the building to park on, simply nodded. "OK," she agreed, accepting the key. "Where are we going?"

"United Stor-All Central Denver Storage," Shane read from the invoice she pulled from her pocket.

"Oh, that's 2100 E Colfax," Rita recited automatically, opening the driver's door on Shane's car. "We'll see you there!"

"Well, Ms. McInerney," Oliver began once they had pulled into traffic. "What are you up to?"

Shane grinned. "How did you know?" she asked.

"I know you better than you think," he admitted. "I'm a very observant person."

"So _I've_ observed," Shane remarked wryly. "Very well, Mr. O'Toole. If you must know, I just noticed how Norman couldn't take his eyes off Rita and thought that they could use a few minutes…alone…together. Maybe he'll work up some courage if given proper encouragement."

 _You saw that but cannot see that_ _ **I**_ _can't take my eyes off_ _ **you**_ _?_ he thought.

"Actually, I did want to run something by you before I approached Norman and Rita with it," she began.

"Oh, yes?" he prompted.

"The concierge at the hotel told me that there is a firework display at the State Capitol the night before the 4th?" she asked.

"Independence Eve," he nodded. "At Civic Center Park in front of the Capitol, yes. There is a patriotic concert, a light show against the Capitol building, and the evening finishes with a display of fireworks. What about it?"

"Well, I was wondering – since we also have that day off in honor of Independence Day, which is Saturday – if the four of us can attend? Together? I can pack a picnic…" she trailed off, disturbed by the distant look in his eyes. "You know what? Never mind…it was a silly request. I can go alone."

"Why?" he asked, "Attending together is much better. I am only sorry I did not think of it myself, but with the Post Office hosting the barbecue the next day at the theme park, I just assumed you wouldn't want to go to two events in a row."

"Um…barbecue?" Shane asked. "What barbecue?"

"The Post Office attends the Fireworks at Elitch Gardens Theme and Water Park every year on the Fourth and hosts a barbecue there in one of their covered eating areas," he told her. "I'm sorry; I thought you knew."

"No, this is news to me. What is Elitch Gardens?" she asked as he pulled in to the storage facility's parking lot and turned off the engine.

"It's a theme park downtown," Rita explained, approaching. "Oh, are you coming on Saturday? Please say you will!"

"I guess I am, yes," Shane agreed.

"Good!" Oliver announced, pleased. "Ms. McInerney has also invited the three of us to join her on a picnic to Civic Center Park for the Independence Eve festivities on Friday," he added to Norman and Rita.

"That's so great!" Rita cried enthusiastically as Norman nodded his acceptance.

 _Lord, what a family we are forming here,_ Oliver thought as they began unloading the cars. Norman and Rita went to retrieve a couple of dollies and some wheeled carts to haul the bags and boxes in, and within minutes everything was loaded and being wheeled to the elevator.

Once they were done, the door to the locker had been locked, and the dollies and carts returned, Shane asked, "Where are we going for dinner?"

"I don't want anything heavy," Rita replied.

"Neither do I," Shane agreed. "We've been eating out a lot."

"We could have another night in," Norman suggested.

"That's right!" Rita gasped, looking at Shane. "We can!"

Shane glanced at Oliver. "It's up to you, Ms. McInerney," Oliver stated. "We don't want to overstep our welcome or to take advantage of your hospitality. And keep in mind that we would still need to order in."

"No, we wouldn't," Shane corrected. "While we were shopping for kitchen supplies for my house today, I picked up a few things that can be used to cook meals in my hotel suite. I just need to go to the grocery store. As for the other part, I have already told you that the three of you are welcome at any time. Plus, Rita has a key…so she can really just come in any time."

"Well, Norman and I can go ahead to your hotel room and unpack the items you bought from Williams-Sonoma this afternoon," Rita offered. "If you and Oliver want to go to the grocery store to pick up whatever you'll need for dinner."

Oliver nodded. "Of course," he replied. "Please, Ms. McInerney, allow me." He opened the passenger's side door for her and closed it only after she had seated herself.

Forty minutes later, he and Shane had checked out at Marczyk Fine Foods and were on their way back to the Brown Palace. They had purchased a variety of items to make two simple, light appetizers in addition to a main course and a dessert.

When they returned to the hotel suite, they found that Rita had let herself and Norman in with the spare key Shane had given her and had not only unpacked the things from Williams-Sonoma, but had also set the table, created a cook/prep station on the sideboard, and apparently had kept behind one of the boxes from the Post Office that afternoon.

"Where did that come from?" Oliver asked, setting the grocery bags on the table and turning to the living room, where a beautifully-carved olive wood chess set was placed between two wing-back chairs. He picked up a Queen and examined it. "It's beautiful."

"It was a present from my mother for my eighteenth birthday," Shane explained. "It must have been in one of the packages we picked up at the Post Office today." She turned her gaze to Norman and Rita, who shrugged and nodded.

"You play?" Oliver asked, surprised.

"Since I was four," Shane replied, turning to the grocery bags Oliver had placed on the table. As she began unloading and sorting them, she told him about her dad teaching her to play when she was little and how she had played in high school and college.

Shane placed a tray of phyllo cups into the toaster oven and set the timer for eight minutes before placing half a block of cream cheese in a bowl, adding some Worcester sauce, garlic salt, lemon juice, and grating a small amount of onion in before mixing all the ingredients together. In another bowl she mixed together the rest of the cream cheese, a couple tablespoons of softened butter, some chopped dill, Dijon mustard, lemon juice, salt and cayenne.

She took the cleaned shrimp, tossed them into the skillet and heated them through with a little butter on the induction cooktop. Once completely cooked, she removed them from the heat and placed them on a small plate to cool. She sliced the English cucumber, rounding off the edges with a cutter and removing the seeds with a smaller cutter.

"You look like you do this a lot," Oliver commented, coming over.

"Oh, well," she shrugged. "After my dad left…us…my mother became…distracted…with, well, with something, so I just…learned to take care of myself."

"At ten years old?" he asked incredulously. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can spread that mixture," she pointed to the dill/cream cheese mix, "onto a few slices of the bread, cut rounds with that cutter," she pushed the larger one forward, "place one of the cucumber slices on each, fill them with the rest of the mixture, and top them with sprigs of dill." He did as he was told, popping a piece of the off-cut bread into his mouth. "Mmm, this is delicious."

"Thank you," she laughed, whisking up eggs, milk, sugar, and vanilla in a third bowl. Returning to his first question, she answered, "Yes, at ten years old. From then on, I did the majority of the cooking for myself and cooked all the holiday meals for the family."

The toaster oven dinged, so she removed the tray of phyllo shells and set them on a dish towel to cool while she sifted flour, baking powder and salt into the custard and folded gently. She greased and floured a loaf pan, poured the batter in, and popped it into the toaster oven, setting the timer for thirty minutes.

She handed the strawberries and blueberries to Oliver and asked him to mix them with some sugar and a splash of port while she filled the phyllo shells with the second cream cheese mixture and topped each with a small amount of cocktail sauce and one of the shrimps.

 _Lord, there's something she's not telling me again. About her mother this time. What kind of parent becomes so self-absorbed from a spouse leaving that she essentially abandons her ten-year-old daughter to fend for herself? For all of our differences and despite everything he did to make Mama leave, not even my father was so cruel to me after their divorce. He made sure that all my needs were met without wallowing in his own self-pity, I must admit. I pray that she realizes we are here to help her and that she does not need to do everything alone anymore._

He took it upon himself to grab the package of salmon filets, salted and peppered each, sliced a lemon, pulled apart a few dill sprigs, and sliced the remainder of the onion. He tore off four sheets of parchment paper, placed some dill, a few slices of onion and two slices of lemon on each, topped each of those with the remainder of the sliced onion, lemon and dill, placed a pat of butter and squirted some lemon juice over the top, then crimped the edges, sealing the pouches.

Shane grinned at him. "You didn't have to do that," she said. "I would have—"

"I know," he replied softly. "But you do so much for us already."

"Well, Rita and Norman can—"

"Trust me," he told her, lowering his voice so the others couldn't hear from where they were playing cards at the table. "You don't want Rita to cook for you. You _especially_ don't want her baking for you. It's better for everybody if we allow Norman to distract her from offering to help."

She giggled. "She can't be that bad," she gasped.

"She was promised a passing grade by her teacher in exchange for skipping her high school Home Economics class," he informed her seriously. She giggled again, cleaning up their prep area.

"What about a game?" he asked, nodding at the chess set. She glanced over at the set, looked back at him and nodded, pulling a bottle of Chablis out of the wine cooler. While she poured four glasses, Oliver grabbed two small serving platters, placing the cucumber and dill canapes on one and the shrimp tartlets on the other.

They each grabbed a platter and two glasses of the wine and headed into the living room, placing the platters on the coffee table where Norman and Rita were playing cards. Oliver handed Norman and Rita each a wine glass and picked up one of the cucumber canapes as he settled into one of the wingbacks.

"Thank you," he said, accepting the glass of wine Shane offered him. He took a sip and placed it on a coaster on the table next to him. She sat and placed her own wine glass down before regarding the chess board thoughtfully. He had moved his Queen's pawn forward two spaces. The Queen's Gambit was the name of the play, and it was a popular opening move among both beginning and advanced players.

Glancing at his smirking features, she countered by moving her kingside knight forward in front of her kingside bishop's pawn.

 _She knows what she's doing,_ he thought with some surprise. _The Gruenfeld Defense is not commonly known among people who don't play competitively._

"By the way," he mentioned, moving a pawn from C2 to C4, "Norman and I went up to see Wade today."

"Why?" she asked, grabbing a tartlet and moving one of her pawns from G7 to G6 before taking a bite.

He took a tartlet for himself. "To get a list of the repairs that need to be completed on your home," he replied, moving his knight.

"And why would you need that?" she countered as she made her play.

He moved his pawn to capture the one she had just moved. "To convince you that you don't need to hire repairmen. We can do the repairs and renovations ourselves."

Her knight took his pawn. "It would be easier – and probably faster – to just hire professionals," she insisted.

"And a lot more expensive," he pointed out, moving a new pawn.

"And you would prefer to save me a few thousand by taking on the repairs yourself?" she laughed. "Why?" She moved her knight to take his.

Another of his pawns took her knight. "They aren't difficult," he pressed. "The four of us can easily take care of them."

"You are suddenly an expert in home repairs?" she asked, moving a bishop one space.

"Not suddenly," he admitted. "It's about a year in the making." He moved his own bishop.

She moved forward a new pawn. "Oliver, I appreciate the offer—"

"Ms. McInerney," he countered, moving his second knight from G1 to E2. "I have a proposition."

"Oh, Happy Day!" she replied sarcastically, smirking at the look of recognition on his face.

"If you win this game," he began, gesturing to the table. "You can hire all the 'professionals' you would like, and I will not say another word on the subject."

"And if I lose, what? I have to let you help me?" The timer dinged, so she stood up, pulled the cake out of the oven, placed the salmon pouches in, and set the timer for ten minutes.

"Precisely," he acknowledged. "Shall we finish?" Neither had noticed that Norman and Rita had long since finished their card game and were watching the chess match with fascination.

Shaking her head in frustration, she sat down. Gazing contemplatively at the board, she planned her next move. Snapping her fingers, she moved her king to G8 and her kingside rook to G7.

Oliver looked at her in surprise and more than a little admiration. "Nice move," he commented.

"Thank you," she popped a canape in her mouth and grinned.

"Wait, what just happened?" Norman asked. "Why did you play two pieces?"

"Yeah, is that even legal?" Rita pressed.

"It is," Shane answered, taking a sip of wine to cleanse her palate of the cheese and butter.

"It's called 'castling'," Oliver explained. "And is not commonly known because it has such specific rules associated with it but is quite legal when all the specifications are met." He took a sip of his own wine and castled his own king and kingside rook.

Shane laughed, nodding. "Like now," she commented as he smirked. She moved her remaining knight to C6.

 _Lord, she knows how to play the game. It will be nice to have someone challenging to play against, for once. Norman and Rita are great people and I love them dearly, but chess masters they are not. This promises to be interesting._ He moved his second bishop to E3.

"So," she moved her second bishop to G4. "You were saying about your own home repairs?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied, moving another pawn. "Just that I bought a house a while back—"

"A year," she supplied. "That's what you said." She moved her knight.

He moved a bishop to F7. "Check," he announced. "Yes, a year ago. It needed renovations done, so I hired 'professionals' and, well, it _still_ needs renovations done."

"Yikes," she said, claiming his bishop.

He moved a pawn. "Anyhow, I have been teaching myself home improvements on my time off ever since," he replied, grabbing another tartlet. "These are delicious, by the way."

"Thank you," she laughed, shaking her head. _You already said that. Nice try, Mr. O'Toole, but you are not going to distract me by complimenting my cooking abilities._ "Check," she said, moving her bishop.

He moved his knight. "Checkmate," he smirked.

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" she acknowledged, laying down her king in defeat.

"Mmm," he agreed, nodding. "Good game, though. Really. I can't remember a match I've enjoyed more."

The timer dinged again, signaling that their salmon was done. "I'll take that as a compliment. You win, Oliver," she sighed, tossing some arugula, goat's cheese, walnuts, raspberries, salt, pepper, olive oil, and champagne vinegar in a bowl for a salad while Oliver pulled the salmon pouches out of the toaster oven. "We'll do the renovations ourselves."

"Good. And you _should_ take it as a compliment. Not many people surprise me with their chess games," he replied, sliding a pouch onto one of the plates on the table.

"Maybe we can have a rematch after dinner?" she offered, whipping some cream and sugar together for their dessert.

He pulled out another bottle of wine, opened it, and placed it on the table. "I look forward to it," he answered, grinning sideways.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Let me know what you thought! The chess game was fun to write but required some extra thought. Up next: Wednesday at work, with Rita and Shane helping Theresa rehearse for the show at Lendimer Manor.**


	7. Back at Work

**A/N: I still own nothing but my own imagination, and I am OK with that.**

 **So I had a LOT of comments on both the food and the chess game from the last chapter. I only know the basics for chess…it took me two days of studying the game to write that scene with any degree of credibility. Even now I am not** _ **completely**_ **satisfied with it but do not know how to make it read any better.**

 **As for the food, I do love to cook and especially to bake (I was accepted into Le Cordon Bleu's patisserie program before they closed) and like to write food descriptions as it helps me develop flavors. I apologize if it makes you all hungry, though. If you'd like, I'll stop. And if any of you are ever in my neck of the woods, stop by and I will be happy to cook for you!**

 **We are now on Wednesday, into July (finally) and this is another day at the DLO, with Shane and Rita helping Theresa rehearse for the show at Lendimer Manor. Also, I am trying to decide on a name for this series of stories. If my #POstables family can help me out and send me some suggestions, I would appreciate it.**

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Wednesday, July 1, 2014

6:50 AM

"Good Morning, Ms. McInerney," Shane heard as she approached the Denver Bean Coffee House.

Looking up, she laughed when she saw Oliver approaching from her right. "Good Morning, Oliver," she greeted him. "I didn't think I would meet anyone this early."

"I always try to get in to the office early after an unexpected day off," he explained, entering the rapidly-lengthening line for the coffee cart.

"To make up for lost time," she concluded knowingly. At his nod, she added, "So do I."

 _Somehow, Ms. McInerney, that piece of information does not surprise me about you. Everything I have seen of you this past week and a half has proven that you are a dedicated employee and invested personally in your work._

"I'm glad I met you this morning without the others," Oliver broached. "I wanted to say thank you."

"Whatever for?" Shane asked, confused.

"For every time you have invited us into your suite to give us some semblance of a normal life," he explained. "I believe that all four of us have some degree of dysfunction in our personal lives: my wife ran off to Paris a year and a half ago, your father left when you were still young and as a result your mother essentially left you to fend for yourself, Rita has both parents still in her life but they live in Albuquerque and are very much of the hippie persuasion." Shane giggled at the description. "She doesn't see them very often. In fact, I believe – of the four of us – Norman has the most conventional home life. He has parents, and cousins—"

"And more cousins," she added, giggling again.

He laughed. "Yes. But I do not recall having seen most of them, so I don't know if they live near enough for him to see them regularly."

"What about you?" she asked. "I know about your wife, but don't you have parents?"

He regarded her thoughtfully but didn't answer.

She got the hint. "OK, Oliver," she sighed. "I promised you I would respect your privacy when you couldn't answer a question and I will do that; I won't ask about your parents again until you're ready to tell me." She looked away, remembering the words her father had written to her in her birthday card: _It is my prayer that you will find comfort, acceptance, and a sense of belonging in a surrogate family that you were missing in your biological one._

"Family isn't just about the people you are related to," she added. "Rita and I were just speaking of this yesterday. Sometimes friends can make a better, healthier, family than the people who share our names."

"Precisely," he nodded. _I'm glad she understands me, Lord, because I fear I am not making myself very coherent. Every time I am around her, my words get muddled and I lose all train of thought._

"You're welcome, Oliver," she replied softly. "But I hope you know that I don't invite you guys over to be thanked; I invite you all because I honestly enjoy your company. Last night was good for me, too; I haven't played chess in ages – could never find anyone who knew more than the basic rules – so it was refreshing to realize that the chessboard you keep in the DLO is more than just an undeliverable gathering dust. And I always enjoy cooking for more than just myself."

"Next!" the barista called.

Oliver stepped forward. "May I get a Steamboat Americano and a Steamboat Skinny Vanilla Latte with an extra shot, please?" He had noticed that Shane had asked for an extra shot in her latte the previous morning, so took that to mean that larger sizes didn't have the right amount of caffeine for her.

"You didn't have to do that, Oliver," Shane sighed. Seeing the Look he threw her way, however, she added, "But thank you. I do appreciate it."

"My pleasure, Ms. McInerney," Oliver smirked.

She was about to say something when the barista interrupted her train of thought. "One Steamboat Americano and one Steamboat Skinny Vanilla Latte with an extra shot."

"Thanks," Oliver said, laying a ten down. "Keep the change." He grabbed both beverages, handed Shane her latte, tapped his cup to hers in a silent toast, and gestured to his car.

Ten minutes later, they were entering the squeaky door to the DLO and placing their things at their respective work stations.

"I believe you asked me to remind you to pay the 'Swear Jar' for your momentary lapse in gentlemanly conduct and language the other night," Shane reminded him, pointing to the hanging orb.

Oliver grinned. "So I did," he acknowledged, pulling out his wallet. Removing a one, he held it up for her to see and dropped it in.

"So…how did the 'Swear Jar' come to be in existence?" Shane asked, thoughtfully gazing up at it.

Oliver chuckled. "Andrea," he replied.

Shane laughed out loud. "Enough said," she gasped.

"Well, while we are here and waiting for our colleagues," he gestured to the "In" basket. "Shall we begin?" For once, the "Impossibly Ripped and Mangled" bin had been still empty on the last day of the month, so there was no need for them to work on it today – the first of the month.

"May as well," Shane agreed, pulling out her laptop and settling in next to the chess board.

They worked through a late rental payment, a petition to Governor Hallett about building more soup kitchens for the homeless in the Denver Metro Area, and a college application before Norman and Rita arrived ten minutes before eight.

"Good morning, Rita; good morning, Norman," Oliver greeted as they entered.

"Morning, Oliver; morning, Shane," they responded.

As they approached their workstations, the door squeaked again as Theresa came running in. "I can't do it!" she shouted. "I cannot do it! I mean, how am I gonna get this?"

"Whoa, slow down, Theresa," Shane instructed, standing up. "Get what?"

"Is anything the matter, Ms. Capodiamonte?" Oliver added, concern for his superior evident on his face.

" _Everything's_ the matter, Oliver!" Theresa insisted. "The show! I won't be able to do it…the curtain goes up on Sunday night and I can't learn the main performer's part by then!"

"The show?" Oliver tilted his head in concentration. "The show at Lendimer Manor?"

"The one that your 'Gramma' – Vivian Lasseter – isn't able to do because she left with her family," Theresa confirmed. "I'm supposed to take her place. On Sunday. Four days from today. And I don't know the part, at all. I spent _all day_ yesterday rehearsing in here!"

Oliver and Shane looked at each other in surprise. _All day?_ they mouthed to each other. Shane shrugged while Oliver rubbed his forehead. _Doesn't she have a job to do…for the Post Office?_

"Well, I'm sure we can help you learn it," Rita offered. "Shane and I can. Right, Shane?"

Shane glanced up at Oliver again, who nodded imperceptibly, willing her to suggest a place other than the DLO for their rehearsals. "Of-of course we can," Shane agreed hesitantly. "At the…Mailbox Grille…perhaps?"

 _Thank you, Ms. McInerney,_ Oliver thought with some measure of relief. _At least this will allow me and Norman some time to get through a few more letters without distraction._ "Excellent!" he said aloud. "In the meantime, Norman and I will work through a few more letters, and we will join you ladies there for lunch at, say, 12:30?"

"Great!" Shane announced, packing up her laptop into her bag. "We will see you boys later." She made to follow Rita and Theresa out the door when Oliver grabbed her arm, holding her back for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispered, glancing at the door Theresa had just disappeared from. "I owe you one."

She shook her head. "You owe me nothing. It's the least I can do."

She slung her purse over her shoulder and left the DLO. A few minutes later, entering the Mailbox Grille, she saw Rita and Theresa in the back, between the row of booths along the wall and the bar, working on the dance steps. Unfortunately for Theresa, Rita was entirely out of step, which was confusing Theresa and causing her to be out of step, too.

Smiling to herself, Shane sighed and shook her head, placing her bag and her jacket at the same booth Rita had placed her things before joining the other ladies. "Umm…maybe we should start with the verbal part and work on the dancing later?" she suggested.

Theresa nodded in relief. "Near as I can tell," she explained, handing the notebook to Shane. "Is it's not a play but rather a series of Broadway songs, but most of them I have never heard of."

"Hmm…" Shane said, scanning the list of musical numbers.

"' _No Time At All' – 'Pippin',_ " she read. "Pippin? What's that?

"' _Something Bad' – 'Wicked'._ Well, at least I've heard of that one.

"' _I'm Not That Girl' – 'Wicked'_

"' _Wonderful' – 'Wicked'_

"' _Journey to the Past' – 'Anastasia'_

"' _Once Upon a December' – 'Anastasia'_

"' _Me and the Sky' - 'Come From Away'_

"' _Wherever We Are' – 'Come From Away'_

"' _Prayer' – 'Come From Away'_. Well…" Shane cleared her throat. "Since I have never heard of several of these musicals myself, why don't we come up with some sort of…strategy…for how to approach this?"

"I need a strategy?" Theresa asked. "Like what kind of strategy?"

"Well," Shane replied. "At least two of these musicals – _Wicked_ and _Anastasia_ – are considered comedies, although some of the songs are quite moving. The others I have never heard of. Why not take the comedic route for all of them and make people laugh with your performance?" she suggested.

"You mean turn a serious song into a funny one?" Theresa interpreted.

Shane nodded. "Exactly. You can use exaggerated gestures, funny faces, emphasize certain words in the songs, sing off-key…do whatever you can to make the audience laugh. This is a retirement home…these people need as much joy and laughter as they can get; they don't need another reason to cry."

Shane and Rita coached Theresa steadily for the next three and a half hours, at which time the older woman announced she had to go to Lendimer Manor to rehearse with the other ladies she would be performing with. Shane and Rita wished her luck and sat in their booth to wait for Norman and Oliver to show up for lunch.

"I really can't wait to see that show now," Rita laughed.

"I know," Shane smiled, ordering two waters with lemon. "Poor Theresa, getting roped into doing it."

"She's being a good sport about it, though!" Rita said brightly.

Angie brought their waters over. "Yes, she is," Shane admitted, taking a sip of hers.

"Are you ladies ready to order?" Angie asked.

"Not quite yet," Rita replied. "We're waiting for Norman and Oliver."

"They should be here soon," Shane supplied. "So we'll order waters for them, too, and the food once they arrive."

Angie went to check on another table as Shane and Rita chatted about Theresa's show a little more. A few minutes later, Angie brought out two more waters with lemon and within five minutes after that, Norman and Oliver walked into the restaurant.

"Ladies," Oliver greeted, taking a seat next to Shane. "Where is Ms. Capodiamonte?"

"She left just about fifteen minutes ago," Shane explained. "She had to go to Lendimer Manor to rehearse with the other ladies there. Were you boys able to get much done while we were otherwise occupied with Theresa?"

"We managed to forge our way through the majority of the remaining letters in our basket," Oliver replied, taking a sip of water. "We should be able to finish by mid-afternoon if they are all as straightforward as they have been today."

"Oh, great!" Rita sighed. "I was hoping it would be an easy day, what with Charlie's letter taking all of last week, and Casey's letter giving us an extra long Monday this week and then spending all day yesterday on the go…I'm beat!"

"Me, too," Norman added, putting down his menu.

Shane grinned wryly at Oliver. "It's your turn," she told him, pushing the menu towards him.

"Perhaps we can split a Strawberry Avocado Spinach Salad and each order a cup of the Chilled Golden Tomato Bisque to go with it?" he suggested. "I still don't want anything heavy."

"Perfect," she agreed. Angie came by, wrote down their lunch orders and took them to the kitchen.

"Norman, Rita," Oliver began once she had gone. "If you two wish to take the rest of the day off, I believe Ms. McInerney and I can finish the few letters we have remaining. As it is, we'll be leaving early anyhow."

"Really?" they asked.

"Go on," Shane insisted. "You can get out of here after lunch."

"Thank you," Norman replied for the both of them.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

4:00 PM

"Well, Ms. McInerney," Oliver said, placing the last envelope in the pneumatic tube and sending it off, "we are all finished for the day."

"I think that was the easiest day we've had since I started nine days ago," Shane commented, packing up her laptop.

"It doesn't happen often," he agreed. "But we do occasionally have a light day with easy forwards. And luckily, your curiosity didn't show itself."

"Oh, yeah," she laughed, passing by him as he held the door open for her. "Because I am so curious to know if Governor Hallett is going to heed that petition for more soup kitchens."

"He's done a lot of good with the homeless in our state," Oliver commented. "He's made a career out of caring for the less fortunate."

"I'm sure he has," she replied. "But I haven't even been in this state two weeks yet, so haven't had the chance to get to know his politics."

He chuckled and held open the door to the sorting floor. "Where to now?" he asked. "It's too early for dinner."

"How about a drink?" she suggested.

"Doesn't your hotel have a bar?" he asked, steering her toward his car.

"Two," she answered. "Churchill's – which is sort of a cigar lounge – and the Atrium serves cocktails and appetizers for a few hours in the evening."

"Well, then, let's go there, shall we?" Oliver suggested. "We can have a drink or two and order something simple to eat, and still make it an early night." He drove the short distance to the Brown Palace in relative silence, pulling into the valet parking stand. He nodded at the bellman who held open the door for them and followed Shane to a low table with two wingback chairs.

Cocktail service didn't begin until 4:30 and it was a few minutes before, so the two chatted about work until a waiter brought them a couple menus.

"May I have a Rosemary Gimlet?" Shane asked.

"Make that two," Oliver added, reading the description. "And we'll order something to eat in a little bit." The waiter nodded and moved to the next table.

"How was your morning with Ms. Capodiamonte today?" Oliver asked, struggling to find a subject to chat about.

"Oh, it was productive," she replied. "I think she's found her niche for the show and it should be quite lively and entertaining."

"Oh, good. I apologize you were forced to spend the extra time with her…I know you don't like her—"

"Oliver," Shane interrupted. "I don't dislike her. I think she's a little…odd, for lack of a better term…and she still has an unhealthy obsession with you and your grandfather, but I kind of feel sorry for her. You and I and Norman and Rita get to do what we love, but she doesn't and that saddens me."

The waiter brought their drinks then and Oliver ordered a charcuterie platter for them to share. For the next hour, they discussed Theresa's show and how it might provide her some sense of fulfillment for her lost dreams.

"Well, Ms. McInerney," Oliver said as she signed for the bill. "You have a lovely evening. Get some rest; I know we have had nothing but long days since you got here. Trust me, it is not normally like that around here."

"A little hard work doesn't scare me, Oliver," Shane replied acerbically. "I'm pretty used to it by now. Good night; I'll see you tomorrow."

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Let me know what you think, and if you have any ideas for a series name! Up next: we are skimming over Thursday and going to Friday and their picnic and fireworks at the park in front of the Capitol building!**


	8. Independence Eve

**A/N: I don't own anything except what you don't already recognize. Thank you so much to those who have read, reviewed, posted, messaged, and/or tweeted about this story! We are now on Thursday (only very slightly) and Friday and their picnic for the Independence Eve festivities at the park in front of the Capitol building! Fair warning: at least half of this (very long) chapter has food descriptions. It** _ **is**_ **a picnic prepared by Shane, after all. You have been warned…** **Please read and review!**

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Thursday, July 2, 2014

1:30 PM

The next day at work had been another light one, so she, Oliver, Norman, and Rita all went home after lunch. Once Oliver dropped her off at her hotel, Shane promptly retrieved her rental car and drove first to Williams-Sonoma and then to a department store to pick some things up for the picnic the next day, then to Marczyk Fine Foods and Whole Foods for the things she would need to prepare for the picnic.

Back in her hotel room, she tossed a can of cannellini beans, a tablespoon of olive oil, a clove of garlic and some Italian seasoning in her food processor and pulsed to make a spread that she then put into a bowl, covered, and placed in her refrigerator. She sliced up a yellow squash and roasted it in her toaster oven for a few minutes per side, seasoning the slices once they were done cooking. Once cooled, she placed those on a plate into her refrigerator as well, along with a dozen eggs she had hard-boiled with her induction cook top.

Once the eggs finished boiling, she emptied the pot, gave it a quick wash to remove any egg solids, and refilled it with clean water and a couple cups of sugar to bring to a boil. She added ten tea bags, a package of frozen raspberries, and some lemon juice and let it steep. After a few minutes, she strained the tea into a large pitcher with a screw-on lid and stashed it into the refrigerator, as well.

In a large bowl, Shane peeled an English cucumber into long ribbons, along with a carrot. She added some thinly sliced onion, fresh dill, and pepper. Back on the induction cooktop, she heated vinegar, sugar, and some salt until everything had dissolved, and poured it over the vegetables. Once it had cooled to room temperature, she transferred the contents of the bowl into a sterilized quart-sized mason jar and placed her pickles into the refrigerator.

Finally, she went down to the Ship's Tavern restaurant and requested a table for one for dinner. _I think this is probably the first time I have dined alone since starting at the DLO,_ she thought to herself while idly spearing a tomato from her salad. _It's kind of lonely without being able to watch Rita surreptitiously – albeit not-so-surreptitiously – watch everything Norman does, or to listen to Norman spout off some seemingly random fact that is really only obviously pertinent to the current conversation in his mind, or to engage in a spirited discussion with Oliver about…well…anything._ The man was a mystery to her…she didn't know what to make of him. One minute he could be so frustrating, so endlessly infuriating that she couldn't see straight, and the next he would do something so endearing that she would forget all about her frustration.

"How is everything, Shane?" the waitress, Jenny, asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Oh, dinner was delicious," Shane replied, handing her half-empty plate to her. _I can't even finish a dinner salad without Oliver anymore!_ she realized miserably. _What is going on with me?_

"Would you like me to box the rest of your salad up for you?" Jenny offered.

"Oh, no thank you," Shane answered, coloring slightly. "It really was delicious, but I just can't eat another bite, and I am in the middle of preparing a picnic for tomorrow's lunch and dinner."

"I see," Jenny regarded her thoughtfully. "Are you sure you're OK? You seem…distracted."

"Mmm…contemplative would probably be a better word to describe what I am feeling right now," Shane explained, coloring slightly.

"Anything I can help with?" the older woman pressed. Like most employees of the hotel, she took an active interest in all of their long-term guests, and this young lady's story had especially pulled at her heart strings, knowing what it was to pack up and move all alone to a new city where you knew nobody.

"Oh, no," Shane sighed. "Not unless you have access to an oven, anyway."

"An oven?" Jenny responded. "I know it's been difficult for you here, but certainly roasting yourself is not the answer!"

Shane laughed out loud at the satirical comment. "No, it's nothing like that. I had just planned on making a cake and cookies for my picnic, but realized my toaster oven is too small, so it's going to be only cookies. Not the end of the world."

"If that's all it is," Jenny laughed, "…then why don't I get you another glass of wine to sip while I speak to the Executive Chef and the Pastry Chef about setting you up in a small corner of the kitchen for a few hours?" She headed off before Shane could answer, returned a minute later with another glass of Chardonnay, and disappeared again.

After about fifteen minutes she came back again. "OK, it's all set up," she announced. "You'll need to wear these while you're in the kitchen," she handed Shane a hair net, a hat and a chef's jacket, which Shane promptly put on. "And follow me."

Jenny led Shane through the doors into a short hallway, at the end of which was the kitchen. She maneuvered around counters and rolling prep stations to a small, quiet area in the back that had been supplied with the basic ingredients and hardware needed for a cake and cookies. "If there is anything else you might need," Jenny gestured to a tall, skinny man working a short distance away. "That is Pierre, our Pastry Sous Chef." Pierre waved. "Ask him and he'll either get it for you or tell you where to get it."

"Thanks," Shane said, bewildered, as Jenny disappeared again. _What just happened here?_ she asked herself. Mentally shrugging, she turned her attention to the task at hand. She mixed together the same white cake batter she had made every 4th of July since she was ten, poured a quarter of it into a bowl, another quarter into another bowl, and left the remaining half in the bowl she had used. She searched for food coloring then but did not see it. Turning to Pierre, she asked where she might find it.

He grinned, pointing to a shelf behind her, and went back to his custard.

She went to the shelf, grabbed the red and blue gel food colors, and returned to her station, adding red to the bowl with half the batter, and the blue to one of the remaining bowls, using separated spatulas to mix each.

She poured the red batter into two 8-inch pans, the blue batter into one and mixed in some white chocolate chips, and the white batter into a fourth pan and baked in the preheated oven, setting a timer for half an hour. In the meantime, she beat some butter and shortening together, added brown sugar, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon and beat some more before adding eggs, vanilla, and some chocolate she had melted in the microwave. Finally, with the mixer on low, she beat in the flour before adding chocolate chips and pecans and giving the batter a few final stirs with a wooden spoon.

She pulled a couple sheet pans towards herself, lined them with parchment paper, and used a medium scooper to portion out the dough. The timer dinged so she tested the cakes to be sure they were fully cooked, pulled out all four pans, and slid the sheet pans into the oven, setting the timer once again, for ten minutes.

While the cakes were cooling and the cookies were baking, she mixed together cream cheese, powdered sugar, vanilla and a small amount of milk to make a white frosting for the cake. Pierre came over, took a spoon, and tasted her frosting. He also took a bit of the cake batter remaining in the large bowl, and a small amount of the remaining bits of cookie dough still in the mixing bowl.

"You know what you're doing," he nodded approvingly, returning to his custard after tossing the spoon into the dish sink.

"Thank you," she laughed, waving a cardboard round over the cakes to cool them faster. The timer dinged again so she pulled the sheet pans out, placing them on cooling racks for a few minutes before using a spatula to lift the cookies off the trays and directly onto the racks.

She split both red cakes and the white cake in half horizontally, created four layers of red and two layers of white. Grabbing an eight-inch cardboard round, she placed it on a decorator's stand, placed a dab of the frosting on it, and secured one of the red cakes to the base. She covered that layer with a generous amount of frosting, placed a white round on top of the frosting, and repeated the process with more frosting, another red layer, and another layer of frosting.

She asked Pierre to fetch her a 4-inch round cutter and cut out the centers of the blue cake, one of the red layers, and one of the white layers. She spread some frosting on top of the four-inch circle of white cake, topped it with the same size red layer, and inserted it into the center of the outer blue ring. That whole cake went on top of the previously-frosted red layer, and the entire outside of the cake was frosted with the remainder of the frosting. She used a skewer to draw a makeshift flag on the top of the cake, crumbled the remainder of the blue cake into a small bowl and the remainder of the red cake into a separate small bowl.

She piled the blue crumbs into the top 2-inch corner she had drawn out on the top of her cake and placed a few more white chocolate chips upside down into the crumbs to resemble stars. The bottom stripe she had drawn was filled with red crumbs, as well as every other stripe all the way to the top. The remaining stripes were filled with white sparkling sugar before the whole cake was placed into a ten-inch square cake box.

Pierre, having discreetly watched the entire process, commented, "You look as if you've done this before."

"A few times," Shane acknowledged, grinning. "Only every summer for most of my life."

She placed the cookies from one of the cooling racks onto a plate; the rest she packed neatly into a box, separating the layers with parchment paper. She placed a load of her dirty dishes into the dishwasher, sprayed them down, and ran the cycle while she wiped down the counter. When the dish cycle ended, she pulled out the rack, placed a second rack in with the remainder of her dishes, and restarted the cycle.

"Those," she told Pierre, pointing to the plate of cookies, "Are for you and the rest of the staff. Thank you."

She removed the jacket, hat, and hair net, throwing away the net and placing the other two items into the laundry bin, stacked the box of cookies on top of the cake box in her arms and left the kitchen.

Once in her room, she placed the sweets on the table, peeled out of her work clothes, slipped into a nightgown and promptly fell asleep, exhausted.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Friday, July 3, 2014

Friday morning dawned bright and beautiful for Shane. Oliver had told her that the festivities began at 8:00 that evening but that seating was first-come, first-served and that the park got very crowded so they should plan to be there early. It was Norman who had suggested making a whole day of it: picnicking both for lunch and for dinner at the park in order to ensure that Shane – as the only member of the team who had not witnessed the display – have the best view possible.

Oliver had agreed, telling Shane that he would be by the hotel at eight the following morning to pick her up. It was now six. She headed into the dining area, removed the hard-boiled eggs from the refrigerator, split each one in half lengthwise, scooped out the yolks into a small bowl, placed the whites into a deviled egg tray, added salt, pepper, a spoonful of mayo, a small amount of Dijon mustard, chopped chives, some paprika into the yolks and mixed. She scooped the whole mixture into a piping bag with a star tip, swirled out a dollop of the filling into each egg white half, and sprinkled the tops with more paprika and the rest of the chives. She snapped the lid of the tray into place and put the whole thing back into the refrigerator just as she heard a knock at the door.

"What the Sam Hill?" she muttered to herself, heading to the door. "Oliver, I'm not ready…yet." The last word was said after she had opened the door and discovered nobody there. However, looking down, she noticed a wheeled ice chest, a portable gas grill with a quart-size gas canister, and a note. Picking up the paper, she read:

 _From Jenny, Pierre, and the rest of the staff at the Ship's Tavern._

 _Enjoy your picnic and thanks for the cookies!_

She smiled, picked up the grill and the gas canister, placed them on the dining room table, and returned to the hallway for the ice chest. Attempting to pick it up and carry it in, she noticed that it was very heavy – too heavy to carry. She opened the lid and grinned wider, discovering that it was filled with dry ice.

She put some white balsamic vinegar, minced garlic, salt, pepper, olive oil, and thinly sliced onion into a gallon-size zip-top bag, sealed it, shook it, then added some lamb chops and sealed it again, placing it into the cooler, where she also placed the iced tea – into which she placed a pint of fresh raspberries and a sliced lemon - and the deviled eggs.

She sliced up a baguette, spread some of the white bean paste on each, topped half of them with the slices of roasted yellow squash as well as slices of roma tomato and cucumber before topping them with the other half of the bread slices and bean paste. Each little veggie slider was skewered with a decorative toothpick before being packed into a plastic bin and placed in the cooler.

Into a bowl she put some pina colada mix, sugar, pineapple juice, orange juice, almond extract and coconut extract and whisked briefly. She added seedless green and red grapes, blueberries, strawberries which she halved, a can of drained pineapple chunks, a can of drained mandarins, raspberries and sliced fresh mint. She toss the salad gently and portioned it out into individual plastic cups with snap-on lids, topped each with some toasted coconut before snapping the lids in place and put the cups into the cooler, too.

Into a large bowl she tore some green leaf lettuce and some basil, halved some grape tomatoes, tossed in some pine nuts and shaved some parmesan before snapping its lid in place and putting the salad into the cooler. For the dressing, she put some olive oil, lemon zest, lemon juice, minced garlic, sugar, salt, and pepper. She screwed on the lid, shook it well, reserved a couple tablespoons into a bowl, resealed it and placed it into the cooler next to the salad.

Into another zip-top bag she placed some garlic powder, pepper, Worcestershire sauce, white wine, and the reserved lemon vinaigrette, shook to mix up the marinade, and added shrimp. She sealed the bag, placed it into the cooler and closed the lid.

Noting the time, she ran to the bedroom, took a shower, styled her hair, did makeup, and regarded her wardrobe. Finally deciding that dressy casual was the way to go, she donned a sleeveless dress with wide, horizontal, blue-and-white stripes, a narrow red belt, a red cardigan, red sandal wedges, red cuff and blue bangle, red drop earrings, and a navy blue purse, into which she slid her wallet, phone, iPad, computer, various chargers and a well-loved copy of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.

Returning to the living room, she grabbed the picnic basket she had purchased at Williams-Sonoma the day before and opened it. Inside, there were four plates, four sets of cutlery, four wine glasses, four coffee mugs, four linen napkins, salt and pepper shakers, a cutting board and knife, a fleece picnic blanket, and an insulated thermos, which she pulled out.

She made a pot of coffee, and while it was brewing, mixed together some Cinnamon Chex, cinnamon-flavored apple chips, pistachios, and golden raisins in a bowl and portioned them into small sandwich bags which she tied off and placed into the basket along with a jar of honey, the bottle of Worcestershire sauce, the jar of pickles she had made the day before, a few serving utensils, some paper plates, wooden skewers, a bowl, paper towels, and a deck of cards.

She poured the coffee into the thermos, placed the thermos in the basket, closed and latched the lid, and heaved the heavy basket on top of the cooler. On top of that she placed the grill and gas canister. She removed the cake gently from its box and placed it carefully on a plastic cake platter with a snap-on handled lid, slid the cookies from their box into a plastic lidded container, placed the cookies on top of the grill, slung her purse over her shoulder, pulled up the handle on the back of the cooler, gently eased the cooler onto its rear wheels, and heard a knock at the door.

"What on earth?" she muttered to herself, easing the cooler back into a standing position. Glancing out the peephole, she threw open the door, causing her purse to fall off her shoulder and spill out onto the floor. "Oliver!"

"Oh, my goodness, Ms. McInerney!" he exclaimed, crouching down to help her pick up the contents of her bag. "I am so sorry! Allow me."

She grabbed her iPad and phone, checking to make sure she had not cracked the screens, as he handed her the laptop and wallet and picked up her book. "Shakespeare, Ms. McInerney?" he inquired, one eyebrow raised.

"You aren't the only one with an education, Oliver O'Toole," she retorted playfully, retrieving the book from him and placing it back in her purse. "What are you doing here, anyway? I thought we were meeting in the lobby?"

"We were, but I couldn't ignore the still, small Voice inside my head, telling me that it would be better to pick you up from your suite." He finally turned his head to see the ice chest, picnic basket, grill, cookies, and cake in the dining room and turned incredulous eyes back to Shane.

"My goodness, Ms. McInerney!" he repeated. "How much did you cook?"

"The four of us are going to be picnicking all day, Oliver," she replied wryly. "And one of us _**is**_ Norman, so…" her voice trailed off but she grinned impishly up at him.

"He _does_ get hungry a lot, doesn't he?" Oliver acknowledged.

"' _Starving'_ , I think is the word he uses every time we go out to eat," she laughed.

"Point taken," he nodded. "Shall we?" She put her purse over her shoulder again, tucked the grill under her arm, and grabbed the covered cake platter by its handle. She grabbed one side of the basket, he took the other, he picked up the cookies and caught the ice chest with his other hand, and they left the room together.

Ten minutes later, they had made it down to the valet parking area and were awaiting the arrival of his car. Oliver loaded the ice chest and the basket into the trunk, placed the grill, gas canister, and cookies carefully on top, and closed the trunk before opening the passenger door for Shane.

"Where did this come from?" Shane asked, setting the cake on the floor in front of her seat and picking up the sack that was sitting on the seat. She peeked inside. "Really?" she chuckled, pulling out the full-size chess board. This one folded up and latched, turning the board into a storage space for the pieces when not in use, complete with a handle along one edge.

"I thought you might like another rematch," he smirked. "Since I beat you in both of our previous games."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're on, Mr. O'Toole." She felt in the bag and pulled out a book, laughing when she saw what it was.

"Shakespeare, Oliver?" she teased, holding up the leather-bound edition of the Bard's Sonnets.

"Great minds think alike, I suppose," he replied, pulling the Jag into traffic. Norman and Rita had both declined rides, stating that they would take public transit since there would be so much foot traffic that day, so Oliver steered the car towards Metropolis Coffee, a small brick-and-mortar café near the park.

"And a towel?" Shane finished, holding up the article quizzically as Oliver turned the engine off.

Oliver shrugged. "You never know when one will come in handy," he explained. "This _is_ Denver, after all." He exited the vehicle, rounding the front, to open Shane's door for her.

Entering the café, the earthy aroma of coffee assaulted Shane's senses, reminding her that – not only had she had no coffee that day – she had not eaten.

"Hungry, Ms. McInerney?" Oliver chuckled when he heard her stomach growl.

"A little," she admitted, nodding. "I haven't eaten yet and I spent all morning and all yesterday evening cooking."

"Did you pack anything for breakfast in that hamper of yours?" he inquired.

She shook her head and nudged him to move forward in the line. "I want an Americano today," she told him.

He gave her a surprised look. "Really? No Skinny Vanilla Latte? And you need to eat something."

"Nope, not today. Just an Americano with room," she answered, eyes smiling. _I'll eat later, Oliver. It's not necessary for you to always be so concerned about me._

"Large?" he confirmed. _You are eating something, Shane. I don't care if I have to order it without your input; you are going to put_ _ **something**_ _in your stomach before lunch._

"It only has one size for Americanos here," she pointed out, nodding at the board. "Have you still not learned how to read those things?"

"I always order the same two beverages, Ms. McInerney," he reminded her, approaching the cashier. "Your Skinny Vanilla Latte and my Americano. Except, apparently, today." He turned his attention to the lady behind the cash register. "Two Americanos and two Blueberry Maple Pecan Scones, please."

Shane shot him a sidelong glance. "You are impossible, Oliver." She shook her head, grinning ruefully.

He leaned in towards her. "So you've said," he whispered conspiratorially. "Multiple times, in fact. But you need to eat; I would never forgive myself – and Norman and Rita would never forgive me, either – if you fainted because I didn't feed you when I knew you were hungry."

"How long have you two been together?" an amused voice asked.

Shane and Oliver turned around to see an elderly couple standing behind them, laugh lines surrounding their eyes and the corners of their mouths.

"I beg your pardon?" Oliver asked, handing the cashier a twenty and accepting the change back.

"My husband and I couldn't help overhearing your conversation just now. The way you two know each other so well, coupled with your ring," she nodded at Oliver's wedding band, as Shane's hands were in her pockets. "And your concern over her welfare, I said that you must have been married for years. My husband disagrees."

The gentleman laughed. "No, I say you are newlyweds. You called her 'Ms. McI-' something, which suggests that you are not yet used to either calling her 'Mrs. So-and-so' or her first name. Nope, definitely newlyweds, Lois. Oh!" he snapped. "My name is Doug Simonis and this is my wife, Lois."

"Oliver O'Toole," Oliver stated automatically holding out his hand to shake the older gentleman's as they moved out of the line while Lois ordered their beverages and paid quickly. "This is Ms. Shane McInerney," he added as Lois approached. "And I am very sorry to disappoint you both, but Ms. McInerney and I are simply colleagues."

"Oliver's my boss," Shane clarified as their order was called.

"Please, Ms. McInerney, allow me," Oliver offered, gesturing to a table and for her to invite the Simonis' to join them while he went to pick up their pastries and coffees.

"Won't you sit with us, please?" Shane gestured to a booth along the wall. "We're heading to Civic Center Park in a little bit to meet our co-workers and friends for the fireworks and a picnic, but we decided to get some coffee and – I guess – some breakfast, too, first."

"We would be delighted," Doug answered for both as they made their way to the table.

Oliver arrived at the table a few minutes later, placed all four beverages down, and slid in next to Shane. "The pastries will be here in a moment," he explained as he took a sip of his Americano. "Ah, here they are. That was fast." The waitress placed the four plates on the table and returned behind the bar to help the next group of customers.

Shane took a sip of her own beverage, half expecting to need to doctor it up, but was pleasantly surprised to find it fixed exactly how she liked it. Her gaze flew to Oliver's, where his crooked smile was watching her. "I told you, Ms. McInerney," he told her quietly. "I am a very observant person."

For the next half hour, Shane, Oliver, Doug, and Lois chatted about their various plans for the day. Doug and Lois were not going to be attending the Independence Eve festivities that year but were taking advantage of the fact that most of the rest of Denver would be and were getting some shopping done. They were getting too old, they said, to compete with the crowds of much younger people constantly jostling them around.

"That's terrible!" Shane exclaimed, outraged for her new friends. Oliver nodded, privately agreeing with her.

"You are certainly more than welcome to join us," he offered glancing at Shane for her approval. This had been her idea, after all.

"Of course, you are!" Shane agreed automatically. "There's plenty of food, and we will make sure nobody knocks into you."

"And I will testify that Ms. McInerney is a fabulous cook," Oliver added. "I don't know what she's made, but I know you won't be disappointed." Shane blushed slightly at the praise.

"Oh, thank you, dears," Lois responded, gripping Shane's hand. "That is so kind of you. But I think we will decline this time, if it's all the same to you. We prefer not to have late nights as much as we had been used to. And loud noises make me more nervous than they once did. But perhaps we can go out for coffee again sometime?"

"Of course," Oliver replied, reaching into his inside breast pocket to pull out a business card and his grandfather's pen. "This is our work number, and this," he said, glancing up at Shane to catch her brief nod before turning the card over to write a number on the back. "…is Ms. McInerney's cellular phone number. When we are not in the office, generally she and I are out in the field together, so there is a good chance that if you call one or the other number you will reach the both of us." He handed the card to Doug, who studied the front carefully.

"United States Postal Service, huh?" the older man asked, grinning. "You two don't look like any Postal Workers I've ever seen."

Oliver was about to reply when Lois intercepted. "Honey, it's their day off, remember? They're going to Civic Center Park to see the fireworks with their friends."

"Speaking of which," Oliver checked his pocked watch. "We should really get going if we wish to find a decent picnic spot."

"Of course, we apologize," Doug stated. "We have taken up too much of your time."

"Not at all," Oliver replied, standing up. "You two have a wonderful Independence Day, and Ms. McInerney and I will look forward to seeing the both of you soon."

He ushered Shane out to the Jaguar, opened her door for her before rounding the front of the vehicle, sliding in, and entering traffic. Within five minutes they were pulling into one of the parking lots reserved for the event and were unloading the car. Shane slid Oliver's bag of things into the picnic basket and refastened the lid and the two were soon making their way across the park.

About the middle of the park there was a grassy knoll that was a few inches higher than the grass in front of it. Oliver stopped there.

"This will be the best spot, I think," he mentioned. "The slight incline from the knoll will afford us a decent view of the stage and the Civic Center Building where the light show and the fireworks will originate later, and we are in fairly close proximity to the ladies' and gentlemen's conveniences."

"I think you're right, Oliver," Shane agreed, setting her end of the basket down. Oliver did likewise and set the cooler standing upright while looking around.

"Uh, Ms. McInerney," he began.

"Hmm?" Shane replied, setting the cake on top of the cooler and kneeling in front of the picnic basket.

"Do we have a blanket or something to sit on?" he asked, still glancing around.

"We do!" she announced, opening the lid of the basket and pulling out the fleece blanket there. They spread the blanket, setting the picnic basket on one corner, the ice chest on the opposite corner, the grill on a third, and the cake on the last one before settling themselves in the center of the blanket. Shane poured them each a mug of coffee and Oliver set up the chess board for them to play while they waited for Norman and Rita.

They were about halfway through their second game – Oliver having won the first one – when Shane happened to glance up and see Norman and Rita, Norman carrying a small cooler and Rita a shopping bag, heading towards them from across the park. Oliver captured one of Shane's knights and glanced up, noticed her gaze, and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, I believe our colleagues have arrived," he commented.

Shane nodded, momentarily turning her attention back to the chess game. She contemplated her next move before deciding on a queenside castle.

"It's a beautiful day, we have a lovely picnic and are sitting outside at a park with interesting people coming to sit all around us," Rita stated as she and Norman finally approached. "And the two of you are sitting there playing chess as if you were back in Shane's living room. How many games have you played while you were waiting for us, anyway?"

"This is our second," Oliver replied, moving a pawn.

"First one he railroaded me," Shane agreed, taking his pawn with her remaining knight. "But I've got him in three more moves."

"Do you understand their fascination with this game?" Norman whispered to Rita, who shook her head mutely, gazing longingly at him.

"You think so, Ms. McInerney?" Oliver smirked. At her brief nod, he captured her rook with his knight. "Do we have any snacks?" he asked. "I'm not quite ready for lunch but could use something small to eat."

Shane grinned. "There are small bags of Apple Cinnamon Chex Mix in the basket," she replied, moving her queen. "Check. Or small cups of a tropical fruit salad in the ice chest."

Oliver went to retrieve a couple bags of the Chex Mix while Norman and Rita spread the blanket Rita had brought in her shopping bag next to Shane's, overlapping it slightly to hold it on the ground with the ice chest and the grill, and placing Norman's small cooler and Rita's shopping bag on the two remaining corners.

"What else have you got in that bag, Rita?" Oliver asked, handing one of the bags to Shane and settling back down on his side of the board. He regarded Shane's move carefully before capturing the queen with his rook. "Check," he smirked.

"Oh, just a couple books for later," Rita replied. "And Norman brought some water bottles."

"Oh, good!" Shane exclaimed, claiming Oliver's rook with her own. "Water bottles are the only thing I forgot to get at the store yesterday."

"Hey Shane?" Norman asked. "Do you mind if I have one of the cups of fruit salad you mentioned?"

"Of course not, Norman," Shane laughed, sharing a glance with Oliver, who had just captured her rook. "Help yourself to whatever you want. There's plenty to eat. Are you sure you want to do that, Mr. O'Toole?"

"Why not?" Oliver asked, still holding onto his bishop.

"No reason," Shane replied. Once Oliver had released his piece, Shane made her move. She slid his bishop out of its spot, replacing it with her own. "Checkmate!" she declared triumphantly.

Oliver stared at the board incredulously for a moment before nodding his acceptance. "Acknowledged," he admitted, tipping his king over. "Excellent game, Ms. McInerney. Very well played." He held his hand out to hers.

"Thank you," she responded, accepting the handshake before helping Oliver place the pieces inside the board and latching it.

Shane went to the cooler, pulled out the deviled eggs, shrimp, butter, and veggie sliders and grabbed the Worcestershire sauce, honey, wooden skewers, a couple paper plates, a pastry brush, a spoon and a small bowl from the basket. She turned the grill on low, placed the butter into the bowl, held it a couple inches above the flame, swirling the bowl to melt the butter evenly, and shut off the grill again for a moment. Into the bowl with the melted butter she measured some honey and Worcestershire sauce, stirring the glaze together before setting it aside.

She grabbed a skewer, threaded four shrimp onto it, and placed it on one of the plates. Rita grabbed the next skewer and together they managed to finish all eight skewers in just a few minutes. Shane turned the flame on medium-low, placed four of the skewers across the grill and cooked a couple minutes per side, brushing them with the glaze. She placed them on the remaining paper plate and replaced them on the grill with the remaining four skewers while Norman picked up the used paper plate and the bag of marinade and placed them into a garbage bag he had brought along.

Oliver pulled the plates, forks, knives, napkins, glasses, and jar of pickles out of the basket. "I assume you want these for something?" he asked, holding up the jar.

"Yes," she acknowledged, pointing to the plastic container where the sliders were. "There are some mini veggie sandwiches in that container that those pickles are for." She went to the cooler and pulled out the pitcher of raspberry iced tea, handing it to Rita while she finished up at the grill.

"Oh, that's such a pretty color!" Rita remarked, pouring out glasses of the bright red tea. "And very fitting for today."

The four friends chatted companionably about work and their boss' show that was coming up in a couple days. Norman tried to ask what the show was about, but Shane and Rita would not divulge any information to him.

"Norman," Oliver stated, giving his friend a steady look. "You and I will just have to wait to see the show. If the ladies have promised Ms. Capodiamonte that they would not say anything, then we need to respect that."

"Thank you, Oliver," Shane giggled. "I don't think you guys will be disappointed, though."

Oliver and Norman offered to take the dirtied dishes to the men's room to wash, while Shane and Rita covered up the leftovers and threw the trash into the bag Norman had brought out earlier.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Rita asked Shane as they finished up and the gentlemen approached. "Was it another class in college?"

"No," Shane replied shakily. "I've been cooking since I was ten, when…circumstances…dictated that I needed to learn." She didn't offer any more information, almost hoping that Oliver would tell them what she had told him a few nights prior, but he didn't, and Norman and Rita were able to connect the dots on their own.

Changing the subject to allow Shane time to collect herself, Oliver asked, "Well, what is the plan for the afternoon?"

"You know," Shane said, standing up. "I think I am going to take a walk. I need to stretch my legs; I've been sitting too long."

Oliver followed her, silently asking Norman and Rita to remain at the picnic site.

"You don't need to babysit me, Oliver," Shane sighed after a few minutes. "I'm fine."

"I know that you are accustomed to being alone and taking care of yourself," he replied thoughtfully. "You are very much like me in that respect. But you are on Team O'Toole now, and just as I care for Norman and Rita and their concerns, I care for you and yours, too. We don't need to speak during our walk if you don't wish to – I will respect your privacy until you are ready to talk – but you will not be left to deal with this alone."

 _Father, what do I need to do to make her realize that she is no longer alone in the world? I've never met anyone like her; most people welcome having someone to lean on, but she keeps everything inside – like me, I suppose. There is much I keep private, as well, especially about my mother leaving to marry Harvey, and about my dad effectively cutting her completely out of my life. I'll respect her privacy, Lord, just as she has respected mine, and pray that one day she feels comfortable enough with me to open up more._

They made two full circuits around the perimeter of the park and were halfway through a third when Shane sighed again. "Sometimes I miss having a family," she admitted in a small voice.

"I thought we had addressed that, had we not?" he replied, glancing over at her, arms crossed behind him. "About family not only being the people who share your name?"

"I know," she grinned ruefully. "I miss my dad most of all, I think. I was closer to him than I was to my mother before he…" her voice trailed off and she sighed a third time.

"Before he left," Oliver supplied knowingly.

Shane nodded.

"That's understandable," he responded carefully. "He taught you many things."

"He taught me to play chess," she corrected, laughing.

Oliver shook his head. "It was much more than chess, and I think you know it. He taught you to be independent, to think for yourself, to plan your next moves thoughtfully, to develop a game plan ahead of time. Take our most recent game, for instance. You knew you had me before I saw it…you had probably strategized that out before Norman and Rita showed up."

At her brief nod, he continued. "You invest yourself thoroughly in your chess game and have learned to translate that into your work. Your commitment to our cases is admirable and – quite frankly – unparalleled, Ms. McInerney. It's what has made you such a valued member of my department in such a very short time. It never occurred to Norman, Rita or me to ever go out into the field, 'fact-gathering to ensure the delivery of letters that require _special handling_ '," he quoted, eliciting a smile from her. "You did that, Ms. McInerney, and that is the legacy your father left you. Your mother, I assume, gave you a rather impressive talent for cooking."

She laughed at that, nodding.

"Leave the past in the past; you can't change it. Trust me on this," he told her. Seeing the tears streak down her face, he handed her his handkerchief and waited patiently while she wiped her eyes and made herself presentable again.

"Did anyone ever tell you that your Spiritual Gift must be exhortation?" she asked, causing him to laugh.

"I am astonished to learn that you even know what Spiritual Gifts are," he commented. "Given your Agnostic outlook, but I had always assumed mine to be teaching."

"You have a way of building people up seemingly effortlessly. Definitely exhortation, although I can see a little of the teaching, too. And I have a wealth of life-experience that you are not aware of, Oliver O'Toole," she replied promptly.

"I have no doubt that you do," he laughed, gesturing towards the center of the park where their friends still waited on their picnic blankets. "Shall we?"

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

5:30 PM

A few hours later, Shane pulled the lamb chops out of the cooler, along with the salad, salad dressing, iced tea, remainder of the deviled eggs, and the rest of the sliders. From the basket Oliver grabbed the pickle jar, a paper plate, tongs, the plates, forks, knives, glasses, and napkins. Shane turned the grill on medium-high, placing half the chops down for two minutes before turning a quarter-turn, grilling for another two minutes, flipping them over, and repeating the process on the other side. She pulled them off the grill, placed them on the paper plate and handed it to Norman, indicating that they were for him and Rita while she placed the rest of the chops on the grill and repeating the whole process.

Once the second batch was done, she turned off the grill and settled next to Oliver, who had dressed the salad and poured them each a glass of the iced tea.

Once they had finished their dinner, Oliver and Norman once again offered to wash the dishes in the men's room, stating that since Shane had done the cooking, the least they could do was help with the dishes. Rita grabbed the cake platter, replacing it on its corner of the blanket with the chess board. She also grabbed the container of cookies, while Shane pulled four paper plates, four paper towels, the spoons, and a cake knife and server.

As the gentlemen approached and placed the dishes back where they belonged in the basket, Shane unsnapped the lid to the cake platter and pulled it off.

"Oh, my goodness!" Rita cried delightedly. "It's got an American flag design on top!"

Oliver grabbed the cake knife and sliced into it as Shane opened the container of cookies. "Apparently it has an American flag designed into the cake itself, as well," he commented, using the server to pull away a slice and reveal the inside of the cake. "Very clever, Ms. McInerney."

He placed a slice of the cake on each of the paper plates, along with one cookie, while Shane poured out four mugs of the still-hot coffee from the thermos and placed handfuls of sugar and creamer packets down in the center of the blanket.

Oliver opted to drink his black, while the other three doctored their coffees up their preferred ways while they listened to the band begin to tune up on the stage. Within half an hour, Norman had cut himself another slice of the cake while the other three had finished their desserts and thrown away the plates. The spoons had been placed into their respective coffee mugs and set aside to be washed later.

They stopped what they were doing for a moment when Governor Hallett stepped onto the stage and gave his speech, introducing the band, Chris Daniels and the Kings, and asking the crowd to stand as they sang the National Anthem.

Oliver stood, holding his hand out to Shane to help her up, as Norman and Rita scrambled to their feet and placed their hands over their hearts.

Once they had finished the song and the applause had died down, everyone began sitting as the band started their set of patriotic music and the laser show began flashing against the Civic Center Building. By nine o'clock, the laser show had completed and The Kings had finished their set, replaced on the stage by the 101st Army Band playing patriotic marches as the first fireworks exploded in the sky.

The rhythm of the fireworks perfectly accompanied the music, accelerating when the music crescendoed and slowing down when the music decrescendoed. As the band began playing Sousa's "Stars and Stripes Forever", the fireworks entered a flurry of activity, signaling the finale had begun.

As the final note played and the final firework died off, the crowd burst into applause and slowly began trickling out of the park. Since everything had been cleaned and packed up prior to the firework display, everyone grabbed a handle or a cooler or a bag, Shane and Rita picked up the blankets off the ground, and they made their way to Oliver's car.

Later, after Norman and Rita had been dropped off and Oliver had driven to Shane's hotel and helped her carry the things upstairs, she turned to him. "It was a wonderful day, Oliver," she whispered. "Thank you. For everything."

"My pleasure," he replied, handing her the grill and propane tank. "Sleep well, Ms. McInerney; I will see you tomorrow."

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Please let me know what you think! There are only two more chapters left now in this story. Also, I am flying out of state for a few days on Wednesday night and will not be back until Sunday night. I will try to get the next chapter out before I leave. I will not be taking my laptop with me, but I will have my tablet and my Bluetooth wireless keyboard, so will attempt some writing while I am gone, as well. Up next: Saturday and the Fourth of July celebration at the water/theme park!**


	9. Independence Day

**A/N: I still own nothing but my own imagination. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, messaged, and/or tweeted about this story! Thanks to a suggestion by Marybeth, I am going to be naming this series Chronicles of the DLO. We are now on Saturday, Independence Day, and their postal barbecue at the theme/water park! Sorry I haven't gotten a new chapter out sooner; I just didn't have as much time before my trip as I thought I would, and my kiddo (and my court case) took up all my time in Knoxville.**

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Saturday, July 4, 2014

9:00 AM

Shane exited the front door to the Brown Palace the next morning at nine to wait for Oliver, who had insisted on picking her up, along with Norman and Rita. Glancing up, she laughed when she saw him standing there, leaning up against his car, holding up two cups of coffee. He was the least-formally-dressed she had ever seen him, wearing a red, white, and blue plaid shirt, khaki pants, and no tie.

"Really?" she chuckled, accepting the cup he offered her. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he replied, taking a sip of his Americano. "Happy Independence Day, Ms. McInerney."

"Happy Fourth of July, Oliver," she countered as Oliver opened the car door for her.

She slid in as he shut the door behind her, rounded to the driver's side, and pulled out of the driveway. She turned to him. "So what can I expect from today?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he replied, sneaking glances of her while watching the road.

"I mean, what's the agenda?" she laughed.

They pulled into the driveway in Norman's apartment complex and Oliver navigated through, eventually finding Norman standing outside his building. As the younger man climbed into the back seat, Oliver returned to Shane's question.

"There is no agenda, really," he explained. "The gates open to the public at 10:30, but our group will have access an hour early. We will make our way to the covered picnic area that has been assigned to the USPS where they will have a breakfast set up for us – coffee, tea, juice, cereal, pastries, fruit, yogurt, eggs, sausage, etc. – and after we have had something to eat we are free to enjoy the park for the day."

"It doubles as a theme park and a water park," Norman added. "So I hope you brought your bathing suit."

"Oh, I brought it," Shane answered, nudging her bag with her foot. "It's in my bag." She just wasn't entirely sure she was going to _wear_ it that day. She had a feeling that wearing swim shorts in public was not really Oliver's thing and she didn't want him to be alone while everyone else was enjoying themselves, so she had planned to keep him company. To that end, she had brought some of her favorite Shakespeare plays and his Sonnets, along with her copies of Plato's _Timaeus_ and Dante's _Paradise_ , not knowing what would pique his interest.

"Then we return to the picnic area at seven for dinner," Oliver continued, oblivious to Shane's musings. "There will be hamburgers, hot dogs, and chicken as well as various sides and desserts, with sodas and water to drink, and the fireworks begin at nine."

Oliver pulled to a stop outside the lingerie shop below Rita's apartment and Shane, seeing how clearly uncomfortable both the men were, stepped out of the car to ring the buzzer.

"I'll be right there!" Rita's voice came from above as she poked her head out of a window on the second floor.

Shane laughed, nodding, as she slid back into the car. Two minutes later, Rita came rushing out the door to her apartment building and scrambled into the back seat with Norman.

"What are we doing for lunch this time?" Norman asked once Oliver had reentered traffic.

"Well, if we are having burgers and hot dogs for dinner," Shane replied, wrinkling her nose, "then I don't want that for lunch. I have booked the four of us a cabana for the day; maybe we can order something there?"

"Oh," Norman interjected. "They do have their own menu that has salads and wraps and lighter fare than the rest of the park."

"Perfect," Oliver and Shane responded together.

A few minutes later, Oliver pulled into the parking lot of Elitch Gardens and turned off the engine. The four friends headed toward the group entrance, gave their group tickets, received their wristbands, and were pointed in the direction of their assigned covered picnic area.

Shane grabbed two plates, placed some fruit, a yogurt cup with granola and honey, eggs, toast, and sausage on each, and caught up with Oliver, who had just finished filling two coffee cups. He gestured to an empty picnic table in the back and followed Shane there. Norman and Rita joined them moments later, and they began to eat.

"Well, hel-llooo!" an obnoxiously flirtatious voice came a few moments later. Shane looked up to see a man in his mid-forties looking her up and down. Getting the feeling that he was trying to undress her with his eyes, Shane uncomfortably pulled her sweater closed and crossed her arms in front of her, asking Oliver with her eyes to help her out.

"O'Toole, where have you been keeping this hot little filly?" the man demanded, placing his hands on his hips and shoving his belt buckle towards Shane, who leaned closer to Oliver.

"Lester," Oliver stood up, leveling his gaze at the other man. "Ms. McInerney is a valued member of my team. If you cannot afford her the courtesy she deserves as a colleague and as a _person_ , then perhaps you should move on."

"Does, uh, Ms. _Mickenmack_ happen to have a first name?" Lester inquired.

"Lester Kimsicle, Chief of Postal Security, meet Ms. Shane _McInerney_ , Technical Support Liaison for the Dead Letter Office." Oliver conducted the introductions in a flat voice.

"Pleased to meet you, Shane McKinney," Lester stuck out his hand. "But I don't understand how a bunch of _dead_ letters need tech support. What do you do…place an ad on Craigslist for missing letters and packages?"

"Charmed," Shane replied drily, rolling her eyes at Oliver and pointedly ignoring Lester's proffered hand.

"Oh, for the love of Pete, Lester," Oliver took the hint and stood between Shane and the lecherous look Lester was giving her. "Her name is _McInerney_ , pronounced _Mac-n-Ernie_! Pretend you are saying 'Mac 'n Cheese' and 'Bert 'n Ernie', and shove them together. For the record, also, it is blatantly obvious to everyone here that Shane is not interested, so maybe you should tone down the pheromones."

"Well, I think she likes me, O'Toole, and I think that bothers you," Lester stood toe-to-toe with Oliver. "Don't you, baby?"

"Don't call me that," Shane instructed icily.

"That's enough schmoozing, Lester!" Theresa announced, approaching the bench. "Return to your own team, please, and leave Oliver's people to their breakfasts."

"Thank you, Ms. Capodiamonte," Oliver stated once Lester had reluctantly left.

"No problem, darlings," Theresa winked. "You're all still coming tomorrow night, right?"

"We wouldn't miss it," Oliver replied for the group. Once Theresa had continued with her mingling, Oliver resumed his seat next to Shane. "What is 'Craig's List'?" he whispered to her.

"Craigslist," she giggled. "One word. It's a website where people can place ads for lost items, found items, jobs, housing, personals. Basically, it's a virtual 'Want Ads' page without a newspaper affiliation."

"And people actually use this?" he asked in disbelief, picking up his plate as well as hers while she gathered their cups and her bag.

"They do," she replied gaily, following him to the cabanas.

She approached the cabana rental kiosk and gave her name.

"Poolside cabana for yourself and guests Oliver O'Toole, Rita Haywith, and Norman Dorman?" the cabana host verified. At her brief nod, the young man led her to the far end of the pool where there was a roped off space with an umbrella-covered table and four chairs, as well as a three-sided tent with two lounge chairs, a television, a locker, a ceiling fan, and a mini refrigerator. An ice bucket with four bottles of water and a bottle of sunblock completed the set-up.

"May we order the Sea Salt Snacks for the day?" she requested. At the host's brief nod, she handed over her credit card and within moments he had returned with the card as well as a souvenir goblet full of the sweet and salty snack mix.

"Thank you for this," Oliver stated, taking a seat on one of the lounges. "I am not much for swimming in front of strangers, and I have never been particularly fond of amusement park rides. Usually during our postal barbecues here I sit on a park bench and read, so the shade and the fan are a welcome change this year."

"Well, it's my pleasure," Shane grinned, removing her sweater and placing it on the back of one of the table chairs. "Are you looking for something?" she asked, noticing him checking his pockets.

"I believe I may have forgotten my volume in the car," he explained.

She laughed, digging through her bag and pulling out several slim volumes of her own. "If that's all, then what would you like to read?"

Oliver, amused, browsed her modest library, finally selecting _Paradise_ to read. "You never cease to amaze me, Ms. McInerney. Thank you. Again."

She selected _Much Ado About Nothing_ and settled in the lounge next to him, unaware that he was paying more attention to how she looked than he was to Dante's words in front of him. Eventually, however, he forced himself to focus on the allegorical poem and to force out the thought that they had each gravitated toward a literary work that contained heroines with the same name.

They read companionably for a couple of hours, occasionally one or the other smiling and reading a snippet aloud that they felt the other would appreciate.

"' _Ah! How much might the man deserve of me that would right her,'_ " Shane read aloud on one such occasion.

Oliver, knowing exactly where in the play she was reading from, quoted, " _'Is there any way to show such friendship?'_ "

"' _A very even way,'_ " countered Shane, " _'but no such friend.'_ "

"' _May a man do it?'_ " Oliver asked, placing a marker in his book and laying it on his lap.

"' _It is a man's office, but not yours,'_ " Shane replied.

Oliver grinned. " _'I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?'_ " He gazed at her steadily for several moments after he had finished his line.

Shane blushed, trying not to attribute more to his words than quoting a favored author. " _'As strange as the thing I know not,'_ " she recited, lowering her gaze to the book before her. " _'It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you; but believe me not, and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing.'_ "1 Feeling that this by-play was perhaps a little too close to their reality for comfort, Shane stopped quoting.

"Amazing," Oliver mumbled.

Shane lifted her gaze to his. "What's amazing?" she asked.

"I have always been amazed to see how much Beatrice and Benedick care for one another in that play, yet neither can see the other's regard for them, nor are they willing to admit their own feelings until forced to do so." They stared at one another for a moment longer until Norman and Rita entered the cabana, both dripping wet. Shane broke the connection first, turning her attention to Rita.

"Aren't you guys going down the slides?" Rita asked, towel drying her hair. "It's so much fun!"

"We have been quite content here, Rita," Oliver replied, laying his book on the table between himself and Shane.

"But we're glad you and Norman are enjoying yourselves out there!" Shane added brightly.

"We're going to go on some of the amusement park rides this afternoon," Norman mentioned. "But I'm starving."

"Please," Oliver stated, gesturing to the table and four chairs. "Let's order lunch." He grabbed a menu from the center of the table and glanced at Shane.

"Whose turn is it to order?" Shane mused, glancing over his shoulder at the menu. "I think I forgot."

He grinned crookedly, handing the menu over to her. "You decide," he offered. "I'll pay."

The cabana host approached the table. "What can I get you?" he asked.

"Can I get a Chicken Caesar Salad?" Rita asked.

"I will take a Caribbean Chicken Sandwich, please," Norman requested. "Oh, and a Fruit Mix Parfait!"

"Sure thing, dude," the host replied before turning to Oliver. "And for you?"

"Oh, uh," Oliver glanced at Shane.

"We'll share a Tuna Salad Wrap and a Rotini Pasta Salad," Shane interjected, placing the menu back where it had been in the center of the table.

"Yep. Anything to drink?"

Oliver reviewed the beverage selections. They still had their water bottles that were chilling in the ice bucket, but he felt that they would probably need those for the afternoon as the temperature got hotter. "I think a four pack of your iced tea?" he inquired, glancing at each of his colleagues. Norman, Shane, and Rita all nodded in agreement, so the host made a note and left to put in their order.

"So, Norman, Rita, tell us about your morning," Oliver requested once they were alone. The foursome chatted about their respective mornings: Norman and Rita telling Shane and Oliver about Norman falling out of the inner tube on Canonball Falls and sliding the rest of the slide headfirst on his stomach, and about Rita chatting with a guy named Bill- or Ben-something while in line at the Splashdown.

"You don't remember his name?" Shane asked incredulously. "But Rita, you have a photographic memory!"

"It was really loud," Rita explained, blushing. "With all the music blaring out the loudspeakers and everyone shouting around us we could barely hear one another. But he likes owls!"

"It is always a benefit when making a new friend to discover that they have similar interests to your own," Oliver allowed hesitantly.

The host returned with their bottles of iced tea and their lunch. After he had gone again, Norman turned to his boss. "So, what about you two? How was your day so far?"

"Well, we spent our morning reading," Oliver replied, handing half the tuna wrap to Shane.

"And people-watching," Shane added, shaking some hot sauce on the end of her wrap. Oliver cringed inwardly at the sight.

After lunch, Norman and Rita headed off again, in search of more thrilling adventures to be found around the theme park, as Oliver and Shane settled back into their lounge chairs to finish their books. "I'm surprised you aren't joining them out there," Oliver commented, pulling the bookmark out of _Paradise_.

Shane grinned ruefully. "I have a paralyzing fear of heights," she admitted self-deprecatingly.2

"I'm sorry to hear that," Oliver sympathized.

"I am also very claustrophobic," Shane finished.

"I would not have expected that," Oliver gazed at her. "You seem OK in the DLO."

She laughed. "That's because there is a door and a way out of the DLO," she reminded him. "It is small, enclosed spaces with no practical means of escape that terrify me."

She picked up her book then and read so steadfastly that Oliver knew the conversation was closed and picked up his own book to read.

Several moments later, he spoke again.

" _'Upon this side, where perfect is the flower_

 _With each one of its petals, seated are_

 _Those who believed in Christ who was to come._

" _'Upon the other side, where intersected_

 _With vacant spaces are the semicircles,_

 _Are those who looked to Christ already come.'_ "

Shane, having looked up at him when he began his recitation, smiled. "The first side belonging to Jewish people before the time of Christ; the second side given to Christians – such as yourself – from after the time of Christ's birth," she translated.

"Resurrection," Oliver corrected. "But, yes, the same principle. Very good, Ms. McInerney."

"Do I pass the course?" she asked playfully.

"Mmm-hmm," he acknowledged with a grin, resuming his reading and placing a handful of the recently-refilled snack mix on a napkin closer to his lounge chair.

 _Lord, she is a complete wonder to me. I would never have expected her to own Shakespeare, Alighieri, or Plato, but here is the proof. Her bookplate in this volume is dated from the late nineties…college, perhaps? It is clearly part of a set, as well, which means she has the other two volumes in the Divine Comedy somewhere either at the hotel or in her storage unit. What else do I not know about her, Lord? What else have I assumed or taken for granted because she presents a specific persona to the world?_

He thanked God for the reminder that not everything that is presented on a person's outside is entirely how they truly are and vowed to pay better attention to those around him in the future. Again, he picked up his book to finish the narrator's ascension to Heaven. Twenty minutes later, he finished his book and stood up to peruse the remaining titles on the table, ultimately choosing to spend time in Plato's company.

The rest of the afternoon passed in similar manner, Shane standing to select _Twelfth Night_ once she had finished _Much Ado About Nothing_. Occasionally Norman and/or Rita would stop in to take a drink from their water bottles or to munch on a handful of snack mix before heading off again. At a quarter to six, Shane and Oliver began to pack up their things and place them back into Shane's bag before leaving for the covered picnic area.

They made their way, with Norman and Rita, through the buffet line, choosing to split a cheeseburger and each selecting small samples of the sides of their choice before again sitting at the same picnic table in the back that they had eaten breakfast only that morning. After they had finished, Oliver collected the empty paper plates and dropped them in the trash before heading to the dessert table with Norman. Each gentleman placed a double fudge brownie and a scoop of vanilla ice cream onto two small plates. Returning to the table, they stopped briefly on the way to pick up spoons and a drizzle of chocolate sauce before rejoining the ladies.

"Thank you," Shane said sincerely when Oliver handed her the dessert. "Oh, no," her face paled when she happened to glance up and see who was approaching their table.

"What?" Oliver looked where she was avoiding and groaned. Lester had spotted them and was making a beeline for their table. Luckily, Theresa intercepted him and – her arms entwined with his – guided him in the opposite direction of their table. She turned around briefly to wink at Oliver before returning her attention to the Chief of Postal Security.

Oliver and Shane nodded their thanks and returned to their desserts. Shane asked Rita if she had seen any more of Bill or Ben that day, but Rita shook her head. "I did look for him, but there are just so many people here that…oh, I don't know!"

"Norman?" Oliver inquired. "Are you all right, my friend?"

Shane and Rita looked over sharply when they heard Oliver's question. Sure enough, Norman had turned an unusual shade of green and looked as if he was about to fall over.

"I think I should go home," Norman mumbled.

"Of course," Oliver replied, standing up. "Ladies, I will run Norman home, see that he is settled, and return for you in an hour."

Shane and Rita shook their heads, standing up indignantly. "Don't be silly, Oliver! We're coming with you!" Shane declared.

Rita nodded emphatically. "Norman's our…friend…too, Oliver," the petite brunette reminded him softly.

"Besides," Shane whispered conspiratorially. "Without you here, who would protect us from Lester?"

Oliver chuckled, nodding. "Very well, ladies," he acquiesced. "If you're sure you do not mind missing the fireworks, we would be glad of your company."

As they made their way to the entrance nearest the car, Shane insisted, "I hope neither Rita nor I are so shallow that we would rather watch a firework display than to care for our sick friend, Mr. O'Toole." She took the keys from Oliver's outstretched hand and unlocked the car, opening the back door so Oliver could ease Norman in next to Rita. Shane slid into the front passenger seat, placed her bag on the floor in front of her, and placed the key in the ignition.

Once they arrived at Norman's apartment twenty minutes later, Shane and Oliver helped Norman up the stairs while Rita went to open the door. Shane left Oliver to help Norman in the bedroom while she headed to the kitchen to glance in his refrigerator. For a bachelor who ate out nearly every day, his kitchen was surprisingly well-stocked and soon enough Shane had cut up a chicken and put it into a pot to boil with some roughly-chopped carrots, onions, and celery. She added a couple bay leaves, some dried basil, salt, pepper, and two bouillon cubes for a little extra flavor and let that boil together.

Norman didn't have a teapot – or tea – so Shane put some water into a small pot and let it come to a boil. She then peeled a lemon, roughly chopped some ginger, and grabbed a handful of mint. She placed the lemon peel, ginger chunks, and mint into the hot water after she had removed it from the heat and let it steep for five minutes before straining it into a mug.

She ladled some of her bone broth into a bowl, placed it on a tray with the mug of tea, and a glass of water, and carried it into the bedroom where Oliver had just finished helping Norman get into bed. She placed the tray in front of him and Oliver asked if there was anything else they could do for him.

"Oh," Norman looked up at his three friends. "No, but thank you. Really. I-I'm sure it's just the heat and excitement of the day that made me overly tired and nauseous. I should be better in the morning."

"It _was_ hot today," Shane nodded.

"And there was a lot of excitement," Rita added, remembering the tube slide debacle.

"Well, we will leave you to your rest, Norman," Oliver stated, ushering the ladies out. "And if you need anything, please call."

They returned to the car and within ten minutes were dropping Rita off at her loft before turning the car back toward the Brown Palace. Once they had arrived, Shane turned to Oliver. "Will you join me in the bar for a nightcap?"

Oliver thought about it for a moment, then nodded once. "Alright, yes, thank you."

Once they were seated and had ordered their drinks, Shane laughed, thinking over the day.

"What?" Oliver asked finally.

"Well, I was just thinking," she explained, still giggling. "The United States Postal Service paid $50 apiece to have you and I sit in lounge chairs and read for eight hours, Norman to fall off an inner tube and eventually get sick, and Rita to meet some guy whose name she doesn't even remember!"

Oliver chuckled as their drinks were delivered to them. "I suppose, when you put it like that, it is rather humorous." He took a sip of his gin then looked steadily at her. "Thank you for taking care of Norman this evening."

"What?" she asked, surprised. "You're the one who took care of him. All I did was make him some broth and tea."

"It's much more than that and you know it, Shane," he insisted quietly. "I might have made a passable broth with just the bouillon and some herbs. Norman would not have bothered to try if left to his own devices; he would have eaten whatever he had in his refrigerator when he got hungry, and that could possibly have made him more ill. And Rita – well, let's just say that the culinary arts is not her strongest area. But you…you care for others so effortlessly with your culinary capabilities. It's something I believe we had been missing before without even realizing it, until you came. So thank you."

"My pleasure," she flushed. "And if we are thanking one another, then I need to thank you, too, Oliver."

Oliver gazed at her quizzically. "Whatever for?" he asked.

"For making me feel so welcome in such a short time," she explained. "I have only been in Denver for just over two weeks, but it feels like home already. And that is thanks, in large part, to you…and to Norman and Rita, of course."

"To friendship?" Oliver inquired, lifting his glass.

Shane chuckled, nodding. "To friendship," she agreed, tapping his glass.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

 **A/N: Well, there it is! Let me know what you think! Bonus points to anyone who can pinpoint who "Bill or Ben" is. There is only one chapter left in this story! Up next: Sunday and Theresa's show at Lendimer Manor!**

1 William Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_ , Act IV, Scene i.

2 Dante Alighieri's _Paradiso_ , Canto XXXII, lines 22-27.


	10. Time to Start Livin'

**A/N: I still own nothing but my own imagination. Everything you recognize belongs to the brilliant mind of Martha Williamson; I am just along for the ride. We have made it to the final chapter, folks! Also, congrats to KC79 and Truman59 who both recognized that Rita's young man, "Bill- or Ben-something" was actually her ex-boyfriend Bob. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, posted, tweeted, and/or messaged me about this story and about "The Merry Mix-Up"! This is Sunday, July 5 and Theresa's show at Lendimer Manor! The first chapter of my next story, "Brazenly Manipulative", will be posted in the next few days! Please read and review, thanks!**

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

Sunday, July 5, 2014

8:00 AM

"Good Morning, Ms. McInerney," Oliver stated quietly, leaning up against his Jag as she exited the hotel the next morning.

Shane chuckled. "Good morning, Oliver," she replied, accepting the coffee cup he extended. "Thank you," she added as he opened the passenger door for her.

They headed to pick up Rita before driving to Norman's apartment to check on their sick friend. Apparently, he was feeling better, however, because he was standing outside his building waiting for them as they drove up.

"Norman, you seem to be in better spirits this morning," Oliver observed as Norman slid in next to Rita.

"Oh!" Norman exclaimed, shutting the door. "Yeah, like I said, it was probably just the heat and activity of the day. I woke up this morning and was back to normal."

"Hungry?" Shane laughed.

"I'm starving!" he groaned. "I had the rest of the broth you made yesterday – thank you, by the way, it was really good – when I woke up, but I need real food now."

"Well, if you're hungry for solid food," Rita began shyly. "Then you really must be feeling better!"

"Where shall we go for breakfast?" Oliver asked, glancing to Shane, who was placing her phone to her ear. "Who are you calling, Ms. McInerney?"

"Theresa, hi!" Shane interjected, returning Oliver's glance. "Oliver, Rita, Norman, and I were just about to head to breakfast and were wondering if you would like to join us before you head up for your final rehearsals at Lendimer Manor? Oh, thank you, yes, he seems to be doing much better today. Probably it was just the heat that got to him. I see. Yes, I will tell them. Well, we will see you this afternoon then? Have fun!"

She disconnected the call and turned in her seat. "She says thank you for the invitation but she couldn't possibly eat a bite, she's so nervous. Plus, she's already at the retirement home rehearsing with the others and she didn't want to leave and go back. Norman, she says you are not to go out in the sun today."

"It was very kind of you to invite her anyhow, Ms. McInerney," Oliver stated, turning the car on. "Where are we going?"

"Why don't we go to the Mailbox Grille?" Shane suggested. "We can always go somewhere else for dinner after the show."

The others agreed and within minutes they were parking outside their workplace restaurant.

"What time does the show start today?" Rita asked, once they had been seated and ordered their coffees.

"Four," Oliver and Shane responded automatically.

"Isn't that kind of early for this sort of thing?" Norman asked idly, scanning the menu.

"We must remember that this is a retirement community, Norman," Oliver reminded his friend. "I imagine they keep pretty early hours there."

"I saw the dining room list dinner served from 5:30 to 6:30," Rita added.

"That's not where we're going for dinner, is it?" Norman demanded, putting the menu down.

"No, Norman," Shane assured him, laughing. "I have an idea for dinner."

Oliver gazed at her. "Isn't dinner my responsibility today?" he asked.

"I'll take care of it," she insisted.

Angie came up with their coffees then, took their food orders, and hurried away again. The four colleagues chatted about work for the next fifteen minutes until she returned with their food. As he was placing half their Denver Omelet and hash browns onto the extra plate, Oliver asked, "What is this idea of yours for dinner, Ms. McInerney?"

"Nothing spectacular," she replied. "Just a place that Beth – the concierge at my hotel – told me about."

As they completed their meal, Shane stood up to pay, Oliver following behind her. "Allow me, Ms. McInerney," he stated, taking the bill from her hands and pulling his wallet out of his inside pocket.

"Oliver, it's my turn to pay," she reminded him, attempting to regain the bill from him.

"Yes, but since you insist on paying for dinner tonight, then I insist on paying for breakfast," he replied, smirking, as he handed Angie his credit card.

"You are impossible," she huffed good-naturedly.

"So you keep saying," he responded cheerfully, replacing the card in his wallet and signing the credit slip. "Shall we?" He gestured to the door where Norman and Rita were waiting.

"What are we doing today?" Rita asked as they exited the restaurant. "If we don't need to be at Lendimer Manor until four?"

"Shane!" came a voice from across the street.

"Wade? What are you doing here?" Shane asked, waiting for a passing car before crossing the street, Oliver a short distance behind.

"Well, I was meeting a new client in Denver and decided to bring you these," he replied, holding up a key ring with four keys on it.

Shane gasped. "No! How did we get them so fast?"

"Previous owners moved a couple weeks earlier than expected due to demands from his new job," he replied, dropping the keys into her hand. "I'm afraid they didn't have the house cleaned before they left, however."

"Oh, that doesn't bother me," she responded. "Since I would just be messing the place up with renovations anyhow, it makes no sense to clean it twice. Thank you!"

"My pleasure," he stated, hugging her. "Congratulations, again. Oliver, nice to see you."

"Wade," Oliver returned, shaking the realtor's hand.

"Norman, see you at the next family get together," Wade added, waving to his cousin and heading back to his car.

"Well, Ms. McInerney," Oliver began as they rejoined Norman and Rita. "Shall we go view your new home?"

"May we?" she asked eagerly.

"Of course, we may," he allowed, opening her door for her.

She gave him the address and a short time later they were pulling up outside her house in Cherry Creek.

"Shane, it's so cute!" Rita gushed, stepping out of the car.

"Thanks," Shane chuckled, opening the gate and walking down the path to the front steps. "It's maybe a little large for one person—"

"It is never a bad idea to have an extra room or two, Ms. McInerney," Oliver responded, ascending the stairs behind her. "For one never knows when one may need it. Perhaps you will have some friends from Washington – or your mother – visit you here; you'll be glad of the space."

"Perhaps," Shane shrugged, opening the door and stepping inside. "Come on in and I'll give you guys the tour."

They stepped into a square mudroom area with a front-facing window. "I thought originally that I could keep this the way it is," Shane began tentatively. "But then decided that I wanted to keep the integrity of the plans for the house as it was built in 1912, and I found out that this was originally a small foyer turned into a mudroom by the most recent owners, who had three children."

"It shouldn't be too difficult to return it to the way it once was," commented Oliver, appreciating that Shane wanted to preserve the history of her new home.

They continued on their tour, Shane occasionally describing small things she wanted to do to the house. Sometimes Oliver or Norman would add their insights as to what the house would have been like in the early 20th century. As they viewed the backyard, Oliver stepped out and frowned.

"What's wrong, Oliver?" Shane asked, coming to stand next to him. As he stared at the back of her house, suddenly it clicked with her. "Is that extended out farther than the inside of the house?" she demanded, pointing to the side of the home on her left.

Oliver nodded. "It is indeed, Ms. McInerney," he confirmed, walking closer to get a better look. "By at least 15 feet, I'd say. And there are windows here with curtains over them, but no curtains in the house – only blinds."

"There are also no windows at all inside on that side of the house," Shane reminded him. "There was a half-bath and a pantry over there."

He walked to the side of the house. "It appears to be an addition to the home," he observed. "It ends just behind your foyer, which is why it was not noticeable from the front of the house…all the trees that are on the right side of the house as you face it from the street shield it from view."

"How did nobody see this?" Shane asked incredulously, walking the length of the mysterious addition, glancing at what appeared to be evidence of a fireplace, and trying – unsuccessfully – to peek in the windows.

"It _is_ rather…overgrown…on this side of the house," Oliver mentioned, grabbing Shane's hand to steady her as she stumbled over a rock. "Oh, my goodness, Ms. McInerney! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied, slowly pulling her hand from his grasp. "I want to see the inside of the house again!" She strode determinedly back into the house and marched to the wall that held a small half-bath at the front of the house and a walk-in pantry at the back. She, Oliver, Norman and Rita searched the area for an hour before Shane finally sighed in defeat.

"Well, whatever it was," she sighed again. "It's been closed off pretty well."

"Perhaps not, Ms. McInerney," Oliver muttered, studying something closely.

"Oliver, why are you staring at that paneling?" Norman inquired, watching his boss.

"Because, Norman, I don't believe it is just paneling," Oliver replied, straightening. "This wall is covered in this paneling, which we believed was a design element that served two purposes: to act as an accent and two provide decoration for the two doors on this wall, correct?"

"Yeah, so?" Shane asked. "What about it?"

"Perhaps it serves a third purpose," Oliver mused. "The paneling only rises about halfway up every other wall on this floor. Why, then, would _this_ particular wall need it to go all the way to the ceiling?"

"You think there's a hidden door!" Rita gasped.

"Precisely," Oliver snapped, pointing to the vertical grooves in the paneling. "I think I have found the seam, but it is really tight and no matter how I push, it doesn't budge."

He demonstrated for a few moments by gently pushing on different spots surrounding the seam, to no avail. Finally, Shane shrugged. "Well, it's not like it's going anywhere tonight," she reasoned. "Theresa's show starts in about an hour. Come on, guys, we'd better go."

They reluctantly left the home, Shane carefully locking up behind herself. As they pulled away from the curb, she cleared her throat.

"Um, so now that I have the keys…" she began slowly.

"We can begin the remodel this week, Ms. McInerney," Oliver assured her. "Hopefully, with nothing structural to work on, we will only need the next two weeks for construction and we can move furniture and all your boxes in by the 20th or so."

"Really?" she asked, doubtful. At Oliver's slight nod, she added, "Are you sure you all still want to help?"

"We told you we would," Oliver replied, taking his eyes off the rode briefly to glance at her. "Again, I won't speak for Norman and Rita, but my assistance is yours as long as you need it. I made you a promise."

"And you believe in keeping promises," she teased, grinning. "You are, after all, a gentleman."

"I am," he confirmed, nodding.

"Norman and I are still helping, too," Rita insisted, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Right, Norman?"

"Oh!" Norman stuttered. "Yeah, of course!"

"Make a list of everything that needs to be done," Oliver instructed, turning the car off as they had arrived at Lendimer Manor, "and we will be at your house tomorrow after work to begin."

"Thanks, you guys," Shane smiled.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

4:30 PM

 _The show is a hit!_ Oliver thought halfway through the production. _Theresa is hilarious! Whatever tips Rita and Ms. McInerney gave her on Wednesday appear to have worked; she has the audience captivated!_

As the ladies went through one song after another, Shane allowed her mind to wander to her conversation with Theresa on Monday night. _I wonder if she ever told Oliver about his grandfather? Maybe I_ _ **should**_ _have listened to the story, then I could have told him…no. No, I couldn't do that. It's none of my business, and he would not appreciate that invasion of his privacy. Better just to let Theresa tell him when she will. Like he said, if it's something he feels he can tell me, he will._

"Have you seen Arlene?" Norman asked Rita, glancing around the room. _Where is she? She must have known I would be here to see Theresa perform. I told her I would be coming back._

Rita shook her head.

Finally, the curiosity got the better of Shane. "So, did Theresa tell you about your grandfather's award?" she whispered.

"As a matter of fact, she did," Oliver replied, mildly surprised. _Lord, how does she know about that? Was she prying for information behind my back? How could she?_

"And?" Shane insisted impatiently. _Come on, Oliver! Don't leave me in suspense!_

"A thrilling tale of sacrifice, grit, and…midwifery," he responded calmly. _You won't get any more out of me, Ms. McInerney. It was underhanded of you to go behind my back and ask for stories of my family, knowing that Theresa would be all too happy to tell you everything she knew!_

"Oh! Midwifery?" she clarified, surprised. _Midwifery? What, did he hatch a bunch of baby ducks or something?_

Oliver nodded, pointing to the stage to remind her that they were there to support Theresa in the show. _That's enough snooping, Ms. McInerney! Back to the reason we came here!_

A nurse approached the four friends, handing Norman a stack of three well-worn and _very_ familiar-looking books.

 _Oh dear,_ Oliver thought, eyeing the nurse. _This does not bode well. Poor Norman!_

The nurse leaned over to whisper in Norman's ear. "In her sleep," was all she said before leaving.

Norman glanced down and read the attached note, unaware that Oliver was surreptitiously reading it also.

"' _For Norman Dorman –_

' _In case I'm gone when he comes back.'_ "

Oliver, sensing that Norman was trying valiantly not to cry, reached his arm around Norman's shoulders to offer him what comfort he could. _Lord,_ he prayed as Norman laid his head on Oliver's shoulder, _please be with Norman during his time of sorrow. He was not related to this lady, nor did he know her very long, but he developed a strong bond with this fellow philatelist in the few hours he had with her last Monday, and she was apparently wise enough to see his ability to look for the beautiful things in this world and to know that her prized stamp collection would be well-loved and well-cared-for in Norman's hands. Comfort him as he grieves, Lord, and allow Rita, Ms. McInerney and me to provide him shoulders to cry on as You wrap him in a Father's love. Amen._

Tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, Norman remembered the kind lady he had seen on only two occasions nearly a week before. _Arlene, I should have been there for you! You shouldn't have had to go through this alone, you must have been so afraid! She wanted to give me these books on Monday and I told her no, and then I didn't come back like I promised her I would. She must have thought I didn't care about her. But I did!_

After the show, Oliver and Shane approached Theresa while Rita stayed behind to comfort Norman.

"Brava!" Oliver stated, clapping. "Well done!"

"Well, I really couldn't have done it without Shane," Theresa demurred, gesturing to the younger lady. "She's the one who told me to keep people laughing with my performance and gave me tips on how to do that."

"It was my pleasure," Shane replied honestly. She truly had enjoyed that morning with Rita and Theresa. "We wanted to know if you would like to join us for dinner tonight? I had something special planned, but Norman just received some bad news so he might not be up for anything fancy. Either way, you are more than welcome to come."

"Oh, please do," Oliver encouraged. _Once again, you surprise me, Ms. McInerney. I would have expected you to want to spend as little time as possible in Theresa's company._

"Oh, darlings, I would love to, but I already accepted dinner with the other ladies in the show and their families, who asked to take us all out. Another time?" Theresa asked.

"Of course," Shane assured her. Then, sensing Oliver needed to speak to Theresa alone, added, "Well, I should really check on Norman. Congratulations, Theresa."

 _Interesting,_ Oliver thought. _She is allowing me privacy when I didn't ask for it, but didn't respect my privacy when I did ask for it? Something is not right here._

Noticing Theresa's expectant look, Oliver cleared his throat. "Uh, Ms. Capodiamonte," he began. "During the show, Ms. McInerney inquired if you had told me about my grandfather's Dark-of-Night Award."

"I was wondering when she would get around to asking you that," Theresa nodded, unsurprised.

"Then she _did_ ask you about the story?" Oliver clarified, disappointment evident.

"Yes," Theresa confirmed. "No. Well, she asked me if I _knew_ the story, then stopped me when I started to tell it."

Oliver's head shot up. "What? Why?" _If she had the information in her grasp, why would she refuse it?_

"She said she didn't need to know it, she just wanted to know if I knew what happened that night so that I could tell _you_ the story," Theresa explained.

"I…don't follow," Oliver said slowly.

Theresa sighed. "She said she would never be able to repay you for the kindness you've shown her in the couple weeks she's been here, but she thought more stories of your grandfather might balance the scales between you, so to speak. She knows you have always emulated your grandfather but had few memories of him since you were so young when he passed, so she wanted to gift you with a few more."

 _Oliver O'Toole,_ he scolded himself, _you are a world-class cad! Shane has never done anything to make you believe she would betray your trust in her; why, then, did you betray her trust in you?_

He continued to berate himself as he completed his congratulations to Theresa and walked back to his team.

"Oliver?" Shane interrupted his self-castigation with a worried expression on her face. "Are you ok?"

"Um, I am, uh, fine, Ms. McInerney," he stammered. "Thank you for asking." He cleared his throat. "Uh, have we decided what we are doing for dinner since Ms. Capodiamonte has declined your invitation?"

"Well, Norman's not up to going out," Shane responded with an arm around her grieving friend's shoulders.

"Why don't we get take out and continue our inspection of your home?" Oliver suggested. "We can make the list of all the repairs together, so we know what we are tackling and can plan where to start tomorrow evening?"

"I love that idea!" Shane replied enthusiastically, turning her attention to Norman. "Are you sure you're up for this? It won't offend me in the slightest if you choose not to help right away."

"No, I should help," he replied, wiping his eyes. "I _want_ to help. I don't know why I am crying over the death of a virtual stranger; it's silly, really."

"It is _not_ silly to care about people, Norman," Shane insisted, squeezing his shoulder. "That is the exact opposite of silly."

"Ms. McInerney is correct," Oliver affirmed. "Your compassion for people and your uncanny ability to see the amazing and beautiful in even the smallest, most mundane detail is what makes you special. There is _nothing_ silly in that."

"Thanks, you guys," Norman said, blushing.

"I'll tell you what," Oliver offered, straightening his jacket. "Take tomorrow off. I insist. Grieve for your friend. We will swing by to pick you up after work to bring you to Ms. McInerney's home where we can all begin construction together."

Norman nodded as they all turned to head to the car.

TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL TTSL

5:30 PM

Shane unlocked the door to her home and stepped inside, allowing her co-workers to enter. Once Oliver had moved past her with the bags of Chinese food, she closed the door and followed him to the kitchen at the back of the house, where he had placed the bags on the counter and was beginning to unload them, setting her purse on the floor along the way. She set her own grocery bag on the counter and pulled out the beverages inside, handing a water to Rita, a Coke to Norman, a YooHoo to Oliver, and placing her Snapple Peach Tea in front of herself.

They ate and chatted about the different things Shane wanted done in the home. Once they had finished eating, Norman went to place their garbage bags at the front door to be taken with them when they left. He didn't pay attention, however, when returning to the kitchen.

"Oh, Norman!" Shane warned him. "Watch out for my—"

Too late, Norman stumbled over the strap of her purse, tipping it over and sending him hurling at the wall.

"—purse," she finished lamely as he hit the molding along the top edge of the paneling and fell backwards to the floor. A whoosh and a cracking sound caught the attention of Oliver, who looked up in time to see a portion of the paneling along the wall pop open.

"Ms. McInerney," he began, helping Norman up. "I believe our colleague has stumbled upon the entrance to your secret room."

"Literally," Shane murmured in agreement, picking up her purse and following Oliver to the hidden door.

"Oh, my goodness, Shane!" Oliver breathed as he gently pushed the door inwards and entered the room. "This is amazing!"

"What is it?" she asked, stepping in behind him. "Oh, wow!"


	11. Recipes from A Day Off

**Recipes from Chapter 6: A Day Off**

Some #POstables have expressed a desire for me to include the recipes that Shane cooks in this series so that they can try them at home. Here are the recipes as I imagined them (except the Cucumber Hors d'Oeuvres and the Mixed Berry Shortcake – those I make quite a lot and are old favorites). I have tested them all and they are all very good! Please enjoy!

 **Cucumber Hors d'Oeuvres**

2 English Cucumbers

8 oz Cream Cheese, softened

4 Tbsp Unsalted Butter, softened

1 Tbsp Dijon Mustard

1 Tbsp Lemon Juice

1 oz Fresh Dill (about 1 bunch)

Salt and cayenne pepper to taste

9 slices White or Whole Grain Bread

Slice each cucumber into 18 slices – about ¼ - ½ inches wide – and place them on a flat cutting surface. Using a 1 ¾ inch round cutter, cut the skin off each slice.

Using a 1-inch round cutter, cut the seeds out of the center of each slice.

Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside. Remove four sprigs of dill and set them aside for use in the garnish, if desired.

To make the spread, use a food processor to blend the cheese with the butter, mustard, lemon juice, and remaining dill. Blend until the dill is very finely chopped and the mixture is very smooth. Season to taste with salt and cayenne pepper. Blend ingredients one last time to ensure everything is incorporated.

Spread a thin, even layer of the spread onto one surface of each slice of bread. Place the remaining spread into a zip-top bag or a pastry bag and snip off one bottom corner. Set aside at room temperature.

Using the same 1 ¾ cutter used to cut the cucumber skins off, cut about 4 rounds out of each slice of prepared bread. Place each round on the parchment-covered baking sheet. (You may need to push the rounds out of the cutter gently.)

Place one cucumber slice on each round of bread. Use the zip-top bag to fill the centers of the cucumbers with the remaining mixture. Using a bit of water on your finger, smooth the tops of each hors d'oeuvre. For the garnish, break of tiny sprigs from the reserved dill and add to the center of each filled cucumber. Keep chilled until ready to use.

Serves 9-18 (2-4 pieces per serving)

This recipe can be halved (which is what Shane did in this chapter). If you would like to make ahead, the spread can be made up to three days in advance, and the cucumber slices can be prepped a day ahead, both kept in the refrigerator until needed. You can assemble the hors d'oeuvres up to about 8 hours prior to service.

 **Shrimp Tartlets**

8 oz Cream Cheese, softened

1 ½ Tsp Worcester Sauce

1-2 Tsp Grated Onion

1 Tsp Garlic Salt

1/8 Tsp Lemon Juice

2 packages 15-count frozen miniature Phyllo Tart Shells

½ C Cocktail Sauce

30 peeled and deveined Cooked Shrimp (31/40 count)

Minced fresh parsley and lemon wedges for garnish, optional

Bake tart shells according to package instructions. Allow to cool slightly before use.

Beat together cheese, Worcester sauce, onion, salt, and lemon juice until blended. Place tart shells on a serving plate. Fill with cheese mixture; top with small amount of cocktail sauce and a shrimp.

Refrigerate until serving. If desired, sprinkle with parsley and serve with lemon wedges.

Serves 10-15 (2-3 pieces per serving)

 **Salmon en Papillote**

4 (6-8 oz) skin-on Salmon Fillets

Cut vegetables and fresh herbs of choice

8 slices of lemon or orange

4 Tbsp Butter

4-6 Tbsp acid of choice (citrus juice, white wine, or Balsamic vinegar)

Salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Cut four large heart-shaped pieces of parchment paper or aluminum foil and place them on a sheet pan. Place the herbs and two slices of fruit on one side of each heart, top with a salmon filet, add veggies of choice (if using), season with salt and pepper, add a pat of butter and 1-1 ½ Tbsp acid of choice on each, then fold other side over and crimp the edges around the outside of the packet tightly.

Bake for 10-15 minutes, depending on desired temperature for salmon. Packets will puff as steam is released from salmon and veggies inside.

Serves 4.

Shane used onions for the veggies in her packets, but anything would work: asparagus spears, zucchini, even parboiled potato slices or carrots (do not include any acid when using potato slices).

 **Mixed Berry Shortcake**

For the Pound Cake:

12 Tbsp Unsalted Butter, softened

1 C Sugar

1 Tbsp Vanilla

4 large Eggs

¼ C Whole Milk

2 C Flour

1 Tsp Baking Powder

¼ Tsp Salt

For the Toppings:

1 Lb. Strawberries, rinsed

1 pint Blueberries, rinsed

1/3 C Sugar

Splash of Port Wine or Orange Juice

1 pint Heavy Whipping Cream

1/4 C Powdered Sugar

Mint and Powdered Sugar for garnish

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F and flour and butter an 8x4 loaf pan.

Cream together butter and sugar on high speed for 2-3 minutes, or until light and fluffy.

On medium speed add the vanilla, the eggs one at a time, and finally the milk until fully combined.

In a small bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt, then add to the mixer and mix until just combined.

Pour batter into prepared loaf pan and bake for 60 minutes or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool completely before serving.

While baking cake, place prepared berries into a bowl with sugar and a splash of either port or orange juice. Mix together then place in the refrigerator for at least an hour to macerate.

Pour heavy whipping cream into a chilled metal bowl and beat on medium speed until frothy and slightly increased in volume. Sprinkle in sugar while beating, then turn speed to high and continue beating until stiff peaks form.

To serve, slice cake into 8 slices, place two slices on a plate, top with macerated berries and a dollop of whipped cream. Place a mint sprig and sift powdered sugar on top for garnish, if desired.

Serves 4

The sugar for the macerated berries and the powdered sugar for the whipping cream in this recipe can be adjusted to personal taste. I like my desserts to taste sweet but not too sweet, so I tend to be conservative in my sugar amounts. If you would like it sweeter, as Bunny said in "Home Again", you can always add more, but if you put too much in at first, you can't fix it later. Also, often I decide to bake something on the spur of the moment, just to realize that the item I am baking requires softened butter. Rather than pull out a stick of butter to soften for hours that I probably do not have to spare, I pour boiling water into a tall, heat-resistant glass and let it sit for a minute before carefully pouring the water out. Then I stand the stick of butter up on its end and carefully invert the heated glass over the butter. Let it sit five minutes or so and when you remove the glass, the butter is perfectly softened.


End file.
